Closing Doors
by Mummyluvr
Summary: [Sequel to Opening Doors] Sam's got his perfect world, his normal family, but no memories of the childhood he so desperately wanted. Now he must try to find his way, all while battling old enemies, making some unexpected friends, and trying to figure ou
1. Chapter 1

With 140 reviews, "Opening Doors" is my most popular fanfic to date. Naturally, with an ending like that, it begged for a sequel. Well, here it is.

Welcome to "Closing Doors" the anticipated sequel that I mentioned above. As with the last fic, get ready to laugh, cry, and get kinda mad at various characters :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "Supernatural" or any of its characters. I wish i did, though, because then you'd be seeing these stories acted out :)

And now, on with the show. As always, thanks for bothering to take the time to read (and review... hint, hint).

* * *

**Closing Doors**

Sacramento, California

May, 1992

"Higher!" the little girl shrieked as strong hands pushed her gently up into the air.

"If I push you any higher," the man behind her smiled, "you'll flip over the bars."

"Nuh-uh," Allison grinned, stopping the swing and looking up at the man that had offered to play with her after Joey Smith had torn the ear off her favorite stuffed rabbit, "that's impossible!"

"Oh, no it's not," the man smirked, "I've seen it done. Really."

"Mr. Swanson?"

Both Ali and the man who had been arguing with her looked up to see a young brunette woman standing in the doorway to the playground.

"Yes?" the man asked, straightening up, "what is it?"

"Um, there's someone here to see you. He says it's urgent. I told him to wait in the office."

"Ok," the man said, grinning nervously, "thanks for telling me. Ali, why don't you go with Miss Stephanie and get a snack, huh? Then we can see about getting Bunnykins out of surgery, huh?"

Allison nodded happily and ran off with the brunette as the man headed into the main building and towards the small office, dreading who he would see. He was incredibly surprised to see a familiar head of salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes waiting for him.

"Jim," he sighed, "what a relief."

"You were expecting maybe a ghost or a demon?" Pastor Jim Murphy smiled.

"Actually," Dean replied, sitting down beside his father's old friend, "I was thinking I'd find a principal, doctor, or, Heaven forbid, a mortician. Being a dad really changes you."

"I would think," Jim said, "how are the boys?"

"Good, good. Sam's acing every subject and Dean's staying out of trouble. Couldn't ask for more."

"I see. And the apartment?"

"Great. Now that the kids are older, I can work later, and Dean got himself a summer job helping me out. We're pretty comfortable right now."

"That's good," Jim nodded, "I'm glad everyone's settling into their new lives."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "but you didn't come all the way from Blue Earth just to ask me how the kids are. What's wrong?"

The pastor sighed, hanging his head. "You know I hate to do this to you, Dean, especially after you promised those kids they'd never have to go out and hunt again, but I wouldn't be asking you if it wasn't important."

"You want me to kill something, don't you?"

"Up in Maine," Jim explained, "there have been some disturbances. Bad things, deaths. I'm afraid something might be brewing up that way. Something demonic. I'm not asking you to go now, you can wait until the boys are out of school for the summer. Just head up there and take a look, that's all I'm asking. You don't even have to tell them why you're really going, just say it's a vacation."

"Jim, I'm not gonna lie to my sons," Dean said, "I promised we'd stick together, we'd be safe, and we wouldn't keep any secrets. If we're going, I'm going to be telling them the truth."

Jim nodded. "If that's what you think is best, and if you're sure they'll go along with it."

Dean sighed, holding his head in his hands. "You know, Jim, if I'm gonna take them out and do this, one last time, I should probably make a few stops along the way. I've been thinking about this, and knowing what I know, I can make a difference. We can save some lives this summer."

"Do whatever you want, Dean," the pastor replied, "the Lord knows you've already screwed up the timeline enough, but, by all means, make some more changes. Let's just hope we don't all regret them someday."

* * *

Sacramento California

16 Years Later

Her eyes were so accusing as they stared blankly down at him, her mouth open in a silent scream. He would never hear her sweet voice again. He had lost her, had let it take her. It had put her on the ceiling, made her bleed, made her _burn_.

And as he watched his beloved burn on the ceiling, one thought flashed through Sam Winchester's mind, one emotion ruled out all others. _His father was going to pay. _It had been Dean's idea, after all, to try and change things. It was Dean's fault that Jessica was dying again.

Sam cringed at the sudden hate that threatened to consume him, even as the world around him collapsed and shifted. He saw someone standing over the crib, a dark shape in the midst of crackling flames. The figure was stooped over the baby, wanting her for some unknown reason.

Suddenly, it stood, yellow eyes shining, looking at Sam, looking _through_ him. A great burst of flames shot through the room as the creature smiled. Sam felt the heat on his face, felt it consume him as the anger and hate had.

* * *

"No!" Sam jumped up in bed, screaming the syllable as if it would save his life, save his family. Beside him, Jessica stirred. 

"What is it?" she asked groggily, placing a warm hand on his clammy skin, trying to sooth her distressed husband.

"Nightmare," Sam replied shakily, "I, um, I need to call my dad."

Jess didn't question the statement, just settled back under the covers and muttered something about checking on the baby. Sam nodded as he left the room, letting his wife go back to sleep.

He stopped by the nursery on his way to the kitchen, peeking in at his perfect daughter, who would be exactly six months old in the next week. Little Ava Marie, his pride and joy, the child he'd never thought he'd be able to have. His heart ached with the thought of a world without her.

Sam walked into the house's small kitchen and sat down at the table, placing his head in his hands and considering what he was about to do. He'd spent a little over a year in his new life, and had barely spoken to the man who had given up everything to let him grow up normal. They lived in different parts of the country, Sam in California with his wife and daughter, and Dean in Jefferson City with everyone else. After Ava's baptism they hadn't really talked, but now he needed advice.

He picked up the phone and dialed Dean's cell number.

* * *

Well, that was Chapter one. Tell me what you think. Love it, hate it, want to burn it and bury the ashes where no one can find them (keeping in mind that doing so with ruin your poor little computer)? As always, reviews keep me going, so don't be shy! 


	2. Chapter 2

Well, that was an interesting first chapter, huh? Bet you're all waiting with bated breath for ch. 2, huh? Well, you can all breath now. Here it is!

* * *

He lay awake most nights and thought about his life. Had he ended up where he wanted to be? In a roundabout way, yes. Sure, he'd never imagined that by the age of 45 he'd be living in his son's house, reduced from the position of Monster Hunter Extraordinaire to babysitter, but the kid wanted him around, and that was all that mattered to Dean Swanson. He had his family, his mother's maiden name, and, finally, a little extra, _honest _cash in his pocket.

These thoughts raced through his mind at three in the morning when his butt began to vibrate. Dean jumped up, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and pulling out his cell phone. It was Sam's number.

"Hello?" Dean asked, flipping open the phone and wondering what could cause Sam or Jess to call at that early hour, "is everything all right?"

"Yeah," Sam's voice said, "yeah, I guess, man."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. Now, I have no idea what time it is where you are, but here it's-"

"Early, I know, but this is important. I had a nightmare."

"Sammy, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. You and 'Child's Play' don't mix well before bedtime. Dolls are not out to get you. Trust me on this one."

A small chuckle, almost inaudible, came through the receiver. "No, man, it's not that kind of dream."

"You had a vision?" Dean asked, suddenly alert and sitting up in bed, "what was it, son?"

"First off," Sam began, "could you not call me 'son?' I'm still getting used to this. And the dream was about Jess and Ava. There was a fire. Jess was on the ceiling, and there was something standing over Ava's crib. I think it was the demon, but is that even possible? I mean, we killed it, didn't we?"

Dean nodded slowly, panic rising in his gut. "Yeah, we killed it. It might be something else, one of its kids or something. I know we got one of them back in '92, but it probably has hundreds more out there."

"'92?" Sam asked, "we killed a demon in '92? Where was I?"

"In the car," Dean replied dismissively, "listen, I want you and Jess to pack up some stuff tomorrow and haul ass over here. We're safer as a family, and if that thing wants those girls, it'll have to go through all of us first, all right? Just hurry over."

"Yeah, sure. First thing. You really think something wants to kill them, though?"

"I don't know," Dean sighed, "just pack up, OK? Try to get some sleep tonight, and I'll see you soon. Good luck."

Sam hung up the phone, cutting off any 'I love yous' that would have been said. Dean settled back under the covers, flipping his phone closed and laying it on the table by his bed.

He couldn't blame Sam for being freaked out by the new structure of their family. He'd adapted fast as a kid, but somewhere in the last year or so he'd lost some ground. He was still trying to pick up the pieces of his memory, trying to find his place in the life he'd always wanted. His brother had tried to tell him that moving to Missouri would help jog those memories back in to place faster, but Sam had been adamant about going back to the coast. Again, Dean couldn't blame him. Things were a little weird in Missouri.

* * *

"Uncle Thammy! Aunt Jethica!" The couple had barely even stepped out of the car when they found themselves being attacked by two screaming children. "Where'th Ava? Did you leave her in California?" 

"No," Jess grinned, bending down to wrap her arms around the little brown-eyed girl at her feet, "we didn't leave her. She's asleep in the car, so you guys need to be extra quiet, ok?"

"OK," Elaine whispered, turning to her older brother, "did you hear that, Johnny? We need to be quiet."

The older boy, darker than his sister, shrugged. "Whatever, Lane."

Sam grinned, popping the trunk and reaching inside for the bags as the front door to the Winchester's modest house opened. "Kids," Dean said as he walked up to the car to help his youngest son unpack, "you shouldn't have jumped them like that. You'll scare them off."

"Sorry, grandpa," Johnny sighed, turning back to the house and dragging his sister along with him.

"You gotta be quiet, grandpa," Lane whispered, "Ava'th thleeping."

Dean nodded solemnly, putting a finger to his lips, as the kids went back into the house. "She just lost the two front teeth," he explained, taking a couple of bags from the trunk and throwing them over his shoulder, "don't make fun of the lisp, she's thenthitive… _sensitive_."

Jessica laughed, carefully taking the baby out of her car seat. "How've you been?" she asked.

"Well," Dean sighed, "my back aches, my joints hurt, I think I'm losing the hearing in my left ear, Johnny called me old yesterday, and I haven't even hit fifty yet. You?"

"Ava's been doing fine, Sam's firm is really picking up steam, and I've finally gotten the hang of cooking Spaghetti-Os without burning them."

"Oh," Dean nodded, closing the trunk lid as quietly as he could and leading the happy couple up to the house, "well, that's great. You know how much Sammy likes his Scabetti-Os."

"Funny," Sam muttered, "really funny. Make jokes about me all you want, Dean, but at least I've still got all my hair."

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, feigning shock, "I'll have you know that my hair is _not_ thinning. It just looks that way under the lighting. And, you know, you _are_ still allowed to call me daddy if you want to, son."

"Getting used to it," Sam hissed through clenched teeth as he followed his father into the guest room, "where's, uh, my brother?"

"Work," Dean replied, dumping the bags on the floor and turning to the younger man, "or, at least, what he refers to as work. But I can't complain. It pays my bills and keeps him outta my hair. And he insists that one of these days some kid who learned how to play at that shop is gonna be a rock star."

"Putting that college education to good use," Sam nodded, "bet you're regretting sending him now, huh?"

"No way," Dean sighed, "he's happy. That's all that matters. He tried the whole 'Child Psychology' thing and it didn't pan out. Not his fault."

"You're protecting yourself again."

"That's what parents are for. Now, come on, Psychic Boy. Tell me about this sudden vision of yours."

* * *

"How's the memory?" Cassie asked quietly as Jess sat in an old rocking chair with Ava. 

Jess shrugged slightly, watching her sister-in-law's children play outside. "He knows who I am, knows who Ava is. He remembers how we met, and everything about me. The rest is still a little blurry to him, but it's coming back. I'm sure that Sam will be fine soon, back to normal."

"I don't know," Cassie sighed, looking out the window at her kids and smiling, "he just seems so cold toward his dad. I know it hurts him to be rejected like that, it's why Dean insisted we let him live with us here. I hope Sammy comes around soon."

"He will," Jess smiled as Ava began to stir, "I'm sure of it."

* * *

"And you didn't see who it was possessing?" Dean asked as the sound of the garage door rumbling slowly open reached their ears. 

Sam shrugged. "I'm not even sure it _was_ possessing anyone. I just saw a dark shape. For all I know, it could have been a fireman trying to save her."

"But you didn't get that vibe from it, did you?"

"No. I didn't."

"Well," the older man shrugged, "we'll talk to your brother, see what he thinks, then deal with it. Not much else we _can_ do at this point."

"How are we going to deal with it?" Sam asked as his brother entered the room.

"Deal with what? When'd you get here?"

Sam grinned. "While you were at work. We're talking about a dream I had."

The newcomer's eyes went wide and he glanced nervously at his father. "A vision? That's weird. Haven't had one of those since you were, like, fifteen. You're sure that's what it was?"

"Positive," Sam replied, "I saw my wife on the ceiling. _Burning_. Somehow, that demon's back."

"But we killed it," his brother argued.

"Well," Dean sighed, walking out of the room and motioning for his sons to follow him, "you'll just have to kill it again. I've been paying attention to the news lately, watching the weather, and I made some new online friends at a UFO message board. Cattle mutilations, temperature fluctuations, and electrical phenomenon. I hate to say it, but the Big Bad's back, and it looks like it's hanging out in southern Georgia."

The brothers followed their father into a cluttered room that sat at the end of a hallway. Dean crossed it, narrowly avoiding piles of old clothes and stacks of dusty books, and pulled open the closet door. He pushed aside a bunch of dirty shirts and got down on his knees, which popped loudly.

"What's he doing?" Sam whispered as his father crawled into the closet.

"Just preparing you," Dean replied as he opened a hidden door set into the closet's back wall. He pulled out a small, ornate box, which he unlocked with a key from his pocket.

Smirking, Dean slid out of the closet and replaced his shirts, then approached his sons. "I hate to do this," he admitted, "but the fate of the family is at stake. Sam, Dean, go after this thing," he opened the box, revealing an antique Colt and five bullets, "and kill it, once and for all."

"You want us to go hunting?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"I want you to save your wife and daughter before they wind up dead," Dean clarified, "but if you don't want to do it, your brother and I could always go. I'd rather it was the two of you, though. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not quite as good as I once was."

"How long do you think it'll take?"

The older man shrugged. "To find it? Just find a kid around six months and hope you're right. To kill it? No idea. You shouldn't be gone more than a week or two."

"And what'll you be doing while we're gone?"

"Simple, I'll stay here and baby-sit," he grinned, reaching into his pocket again and pulling out a tattered keyring. He tossed the keys to his oldest son, who caught them with ease. "Take the Impala, it's already loaded up. Just don't let Sam drive. I still don't trust him after the semi thing."


	3. Chapter 3

All right. Time for another chapter, some more problems, and a revelation that could tear a family apart!

* * *

"He was right," Sam marveled as he gazed into the Impala's trunk, "everything's here. But why? And how'd he even get the Colt? I thought we left it in Manning."

"We did," his brother replied, "but he headed back out there the first summer he had us and picked it up while we were both at camp. No one had found the bodies, so John and Elkins were still up there, just rotting. The Colt was lying on the ground under a layer of dust, I guess.

"And the trunk? Well, better safe than sorry, right? I guess he figured it's better to have the stuff and not need it than to need it and not have it. It came in really handy in '92."

Sam sighed, running his fingers over the Colt as he placed it carefully in the trunk. "You're gonna have to fill me in on that one, man, because I'm missing big chunks of my childhood. I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean shrugged, slamming the trunk lid and heading back into the house. "It was our, what, third summer with him? Right before school got out, Pastor Jim stopped by and paid dad a visit, told him about some bad crap happening up in Bangor. He thought it was our kind of thing.

"He knew dad had said he didn't want to hunt anymore, but he really wanted a Winchester on the case. Dad agreed to go up to Maine first thing that summer. He took us with him."

"That's it?" Sam asked, "that's the big thing that happened in 1992? We went to Maine and hunted something."

"There's more," Dean sighed, turning to face his brother as they neared the front door, "see, dad figured that if we were going to hunt one thing, we should at least make a trip out of it. We made some stops on the way to Bangor. We killed most of the stuff you guys went after. What took you two years took us two months.

"When we finally got to Maine we found that the demon had possessed a little girl, and her family was planning on moving to Massachusetts. We cornered her in a playground and performed the exorcism. Then, dad took us to Disney World."

"Why? To make up for taking us hunting against our wills?"

Dean shook his head, opening the door and ushering his little brother inside. "It wasn't like that, man. We agreed that would be our last time going out, and it was. He turned it into a real vacation, though. Just the three of us, out on the road together. You even had fun. We went camping for a couple of nights in a tent in Black Water Ridge, went swimming in Lake Manitoc, and I got my first kiss in Cape Girardeau. If we hadn't taken that trip I never would have met Cassie."

"He set you up."

The elder rolled his eyes, turning on his little brother. "You're a real jerk, you know that? The man gave up a good-sized chunk of his life for us, gave you everything you ever wanted, didn't even push the whole psychic-thing, and now you get dropped right back in the middle of it and you try to find something wrong. Everyone has their bad childhood memories, Sammy. Mine include getting held in the air by a guy who looks a lot like you. You just move on and deal."

Sam stared at his brother, unable to believe what he'd heard. The man had just shared something with him, put his heart on his sleeve, revealed how he'd really felt about the whole wormhole incident. Again, the youngest Winchester found himself startled at how much everything in his world had changed.

Sighing, Sam walked into the guest room to find Jessica standing over their perfect daughter, cooing gently at the tired baby. "Hey," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her waist, "I've got some bad news."

"What is it?" she asked.

"My brother wants me to go to Georgia with him. Dad's sending him on some errand and you know how much he hates being alone. I can't say no."

"What are Ava and I going to do while you're gone? Just sit here and stare at the ceiling?"

Sam flashed a brief smile. "You can talk to Cassie. Catch up. Maybe get to know my dad better. And stay here. Please, don't leave the house unless you absolutely have to."

"Sammy, what's wrong? You sound scared."

"Just a little nervous," he admitted, staring at his sleeping child, "I think Dean's gonna try to jog my memory while we're gone. I just don't know if I want to remember everything."

Jess's brow furrowed as she turned to look at him. "I know this whole amnesia-thing has you a little troubled, Sam, but you had a great childhood. Your father loved you. He still does. Once you get those memories back, you'll see just how silly you're being about everything."

"I hope you're right," he sighed, "I'll see you when we get back." He kissed her, his lips meeting hers in a brief moment of passion, before turning to Ava and grinning broadly. "Bye-bye, baby," he whispered, softly touching her head.

* * *

The Impala sped down the highway out of Missouri and into Tennessee, country music blasting from the radio. "I still don't get it," Sam muttered, shaking his head, "you mean he actually _lets_ you listen to this stuff? He _knows_ you're a country fan?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Dean asked, glancing at his brother.

Sam shrugged. "I dunno, it's _Dean_. I just can't see it happening. I thought he'd turn you into a little mini-rocker or something. Definitely not a Shania Twain fan with long hair and a job at a music shop."

Dean shook his head, grinning. "First off, my hair's not _that_ long. Besides, we needed a way for people to tell dad and I apart. Second, it's not a 'music shop.' We sell more instruments than records."

"Whatever, dude. Just don't start singing along to 'Man! I feel like a Woman!'"

Dean just chuckled and turned up the radio as they sped closer to their destination.

* * *

Fire leapt up around Ava's crib as Sam ran in, screaming his child's name, tears blurring his vision as the shadowed figure turned to him. Its yellow eyes gleamed in the unearthly light of the fire.

"Show yourself!" Sam yelled into the room as the figure smirked.

"Sure thing, Psychic Boy," a familiar voice sneered as the dark figure stepped closer. The fire spread closer to his daughter as the demon approached him, finally stepping out of the shadows and revealing itself.

"Dean?" Sam asked as the man with graying hair and glasses stopped, staring him right in the face.

"We've been over this, _son_," the demon said in that achingly familiar voice, "it's 'dad' now." Sam screamed as the flames engulfed his daughter's crib and his father laughed.

* * *

The scream echoed through the still night air, causing Dean to jump in surprise and roll off of the bed, pulling the knife from under his pillow. "What?" he demanded, eyes expertly scanning the darkness as his brother's screams tapered off, "what is it?"

"Nightmare," Sam panted.

"Another one?" Dean asked, relaxing and sitting back on his bed, "what was it this time?"

"It was a vision," the younger brother replied shakily, running his hands through his hair, "I saw who was possessed. It's Dean."

"_I'm_ Dean."

"Not you. Other you."

"Sammy," Dean moaned, rolling his eyes as he carefully replaced his knife, "dad's not evil. There's no hidden agenda, he just-"

"Don't you get it? That's why he offered to stay behind. That's why he sent us to Georgia. He's going to kill Jess and Ava, and he's going to do it tonight."

"You had a nightmare," Dean said, "not a vision. Dad's not going to kill anyone."

Sam stood up and grabbed his clothes. "I'm going back to Jefferson City. You can come with me if you want to. If not, I'll take the gun and do it alone. It's up to you."

* * *

Ooh, looks like a real cliffhanger. Good thing it's a weekend, huh? More chances to update! 


	4. Chapter 4

Time for another chapter, which means that we'll finally find out what's going on back in Jefferson City. Is their dad really possessed? Are Jess and Ava in danger? What's with Dean nad Country music all of a sudden?

* * *

Something was wrong, she could feel it. There was someone else in the room with her, and it wasn't her husband. Jess sat up in bed and looked around, her eyes lighting on the baby's small crib that had been set up in the corner. A dark figure was hovering over her baby.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, panic rising in her voice.

The figure turned, smiling slightly, and Jessica recognized her father-in-law. "Sorry, Jess," he muttered, "I thought I heard her cry. Wanted to check it out."

"Oh. Is she all right?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "but you're not." The man's eyes turned a sickening shade of yellow as Jessica felt herself fly from the bed to the wall, where she was pinned by some invisible force. "I've waited a long time to get to do this again," Dean hissed, smirking as Jess began to slide up the wall toward the ceiling.

"Please," Jessica began as she watched the thing her father-in-law had become walk up to the crib and hover over the baby, "please don't hurt her."

The thing with Dean Swanson's face began to turn to her as the bedroom door burst open and Sam and Dean Winchester rushed in. "Told you," Sam yelled as he trained the antique Colt on his father's heart. "Now, let her go."

The Big Bad smirked and nodded slightly, bobbing its host's head once as Jess slid from the wall. Dean ran up to the crib and scooped Ava up in his arms. He backed towards the door and handed her to Jess, who grasped the baby like a lifeline. "Get Cassie and the kids outside," he muttered, "whatever happens, tell them I love them and stay out of this house."

Jess nodded and ran out of the room, clutching the baby protectively at her chest. The door slammed shut behind her as Sam and Dean went sailing through the air in opposite directions, sending the gun flying. The hunters' bodies hit the walls with such force that the plaster cracked.

Slowly, the demon walked up to Sam, looking him in the eyes. "You know, son, I hate it when you ruin everything for me. It's really getting on my nerves."

"How're you even here?" Sam asked, staring into the unforgiving creature's yellow eyes, "we killed you in 1989."

The demon smirked. "Yes, you did, but you boys aren't the only ones who can take advantage of a wormhole. You followed Jake, and I followed you. I've been waiting since that day, all those years ago, to finally attack. I wanted to rip your happy family apart."

"But why dad?" Dean asked, "why not find someone else, or just show us your true form?"

"I wanted to watch you squirm," the Big Bad stated simply, turning to Dean, "to see your beloved daddy berate you, _kill_ you, destroy what matters most to the fearless Dean Winchester. I wanted you to know that he's not here to protect you anymore. You're all on your own, kid."

"How?" Sam shouted, hoping to draw the demon's attention away from his brother, "how'd you do it? Dean's strong enough to fight you off, I know he is. How'd you possess him?"

"Simple," it replied, whirling around to look at Sam again, "he's weak. All these years of raising you boys have taken their toll on his mind. He's not quite as sharp as he used to be. Oh, he's fighting, but it's not nearly enough to save you."

Suddenly, the demon's eyes flashed, and Sam felt the pressure holding his body to the wall double, forcing the air from his lungs. He moaned as his brother caught on to the demon's plan.

"Hey!" Dean yelled, "why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The Big Bad didn't even turn, just kept staring at Sam as the pressure on the young man's body increased, crushing him.

"Please," Sam muttered, using what little oxygen he could get to speak, "please, dad, don't let it. Please."

The demon backed quickly across the room, grabbing wildly at its head as the force holding both men on the wall suddenly disappeared. The brothers fell to the floor as their father slammed his back against the wall and slid into a kneeling position.

"Run," he gasped, "now, while you still can. Leave the gun and go! I'll finish it. You don't have to see it." He looked up, his eyes the same hazel they'd always been, but Sam didn't trust him. The young hunter grabbed the gun and leveled it at his father's head.

"I'm not falling for it."

"Sammy, please. I can do it."

"I don't trust you," Sam hissed as his brother sidled across the room to stand beside him.

"Maybe we should go," Dean suggested, "I think he can do it."

"No," Sam argued as his father's head snapped back suddenly and the hazel eyes disappeared behind unforgiving pools of murky yellow.

"You had your chance, boy," the demon muttered, standing slowly, "it's gone now. I'm in charge."

"I'm gonna kill you."

"Really? You think you could kill your own father? Your _brother?_"

"Do it."

Sam heard Dean utter those two condemning words and pulled the trigger without a second thought. The bullet leapt from the gun and tore through their father's heart, sending a bolt of electricity through the older man's system as it did so.

Dean Swanson's body slumped to the floor, a look of shock and amazement on his face as the yellow gleam faded out of his eyes, returning them to the typical haunted hazel both Winchesters had become so accustomed to.

"It's finally over," Sam muttered slowly as he lowered the Colt to his side and glanced at his brother, smiling. Dean, however, didn't look as pleased. His face was blank and pale, his eyes glazed over. A single tear slipped down his cheek as the reality of what his brother had done washed over him. Finally, exhausted by sudden grief, he collapsed.

* * *

Gasp! Shock! Amazement! Sammy, how could you? And Dean gave him permission! Well, I guess you'll have to tune in next time to see what becomes of the Winchesters now that daddy isn't around anymore, huh? 


	5. Chapter 5

Welcome to another odd installment of Closing Doors. Well, daddy's dead, leaving his boys completely unprotected. but that's OK now that the demon's gone, right? He _is_ gone, right?

* * *

"He was a good man," Dean Winchester began, looking out over the crowd of people wishing to pay their respects to his father, "selfless, honest, charming, devilishly handsome." He smirked. "There was very little my father wanted for himself. Mostly, he just wanted a family. That's what he got when he found me and my brother abandoned in Topeka.

"Most everyone here knows he was actually our uncle, and the man I was named after. Also, most of you know that he had a heart of gold."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, trying to shed a tear over the death of the man that had raised him. Unfortunately, his lack of childhood memories impaired his ability to really care. As far as Sam was concerned, the man they were mourning was a stranger, someone who wore an aged version of his brother's familiar face and acted completely different than the hardened hunter he'd known.

As he tried to force himself to cry, Jess slid her hand into his, trying to provide comfort. "I know it hurts," she whispered, leaning against him, "but he saved Ava. At least he didn't die for nothing."

Yeah, there _was_ that. What Dean had told Jessica after the night's events was far from the truth, though she willingly believed it. According to Sam's brother, a burglar had snuck in through the guest room window, making some sort of noise that had alerted their father, who went to investigate. His eyes had looked yellow in the light shining through the window, and it had been the burglar who had grabbed Jess from behind, pulling her to the wall and making her feel pinned. Then, the brothers had run in, and, after a struggle, the burglar shot their father and left.

The fact that Dean had lied didn't bother Sam. The _ease_ with which he had fibbed was a bit of a concern, though. Sure, the elder Winchester had always had a certain knack for stretching the truth, but he'd recently taken almost twenty years off. He _should_ have been rusty.

Sam nodded slightly. "Yeah, I guess." He gazed up at his brother, who stood in front of the closed casket in the cramped church. The elder man was supposed to be the strong one, was supposed to hide his emotions at all costs, for his sake and the sake of his family. But now he was having trouble delivering the eulogy through his tears. The world had changed so much in 17 years, and Sam was still struggling to keep up.

* * *

The Impala pulled noisily into the driveway exactly one week after Dean Swanson was lowered into the ground. "You know," the elder of the car's two occupants sighed, raking his fingers through his slightly shaggy hair, "one good thing came out of this whole mess."

"We killed the demon?" Sam asked, grabbing the plastic bag from beside his feet and exiting the vehicle.

"Yeah, _that,_ but," Dean said, locking the doors and smirking, "I got dad's car." He dangled the keys in his little brother's face for a second before pocketing them.

"And the fact that the man is dead is, what, some kind of fringe benefit?"

Dean shrugged, digging through his pocket for his house keys as they neared the front door. "Nothing like that. It's sad, but you know dad, he probably didn't even want a funeral."

"Oh, he did," Sam grinned as his brother struggled with the keys, dropping them twice on the pavement in the dark, "and he _really_ wanted you to be there."

"Why's that?"

"Something about wanting to see his own funeral."

Dean chuckled as he finally found his keys and headed up to the door. "Think the girls will like what we got?" he asked as he stuck the key into the lock.

"Well, they should be fine with 'Balto' and 'Just Like Heaven,' but they might have some issues with 'House of Wax.'"

"Are you kidding? Cassie absolutely _loves_ that guy from 'Gilmore Girls.' Besides, you can never go wrong with a movie where Paris Hilton is killed. Those are always hits."

"Yeah, fun for the whole family."

"Even the dogs love 'em." Dean grinned. He was about to add something about those killer Australian rats that Hollywood stars were going nuts over, but something stopped him. The door was already unlocked, even open a crack.

"What is it?" Sam asked as his brother's face fell. Dean didn't say anything, just gently pushed the door open and stepped silently into his house.

"Cassie? Jess? Lane, Johnny? You guys home?" There was no answer.

Sam gazed around the living room. A few toys were scattered around, and Ava's baby carrier sat in one corner. A lamp shade was angled wrong, but other than that, nothing seemed out of place. Then, he noticed the handprint.

It was small, like a child's, and, at first, Sam thought maybe one of his brother's kids had been finger painting and gotten a little careless, smudging red across the wall on their way to wash up. But it wasn't paint. It was blood.

Dean set slowly off down the hall, his eyes falling quickly on the handprint and then looking away, as if he didn't want to see it. Sam followed, wanting to know exactly what had happened in the house, hoping everyone was asleep, but knowing in his heart that they weren't.

"Cass?" Dean tried again, his voice cracking with panic as he poked his head into one of the kids' rooms, "you guys in here? You awake?" Again, there was no answer.

Sam dropped the bag of videos from Blockbuster on the floor in the hallway and started toward the master bedroom door. Slowly, he pushed the closed door open and peeked inside. Dean was right behind him, and they walked into the room together.

Sam immediately wished he hadn't opened the door, and Dean stifled a small, panicked scream. Lying on the bed, their faces turned upward toward the ceiling, were the three children, their stomachs brutally ripped open, their mouths screaming silently, even after death.

Dean stumbled back into the door, grabbing the doorknob for support and slipping slightly as the leather jacket that had been hanging there slid off its temporary hook. Sam grabbed him and held him up.

Together, the brothers looked at the ceiling, following their childrens' dead gazes to find the women they had loved plastered over the bed, blood dripping from the large gashes across their midsections.

"No," Sam moaned, refusing to tear his eyes from his wife as she and Cassie began to burn. Dean grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him weakly from the room, down the hallway, and out of the house into the fresh air of the night. Behind them, the window to the nightmarish bedroom blew out, spewing flame and smoke into the atmosphere, destroying the Winchesters' lives and dreams.

* * *

It was drizzling, the small droplets of water falling from the sky as the firemen rushed about, busy as bees, putting out the fire and scraping the remains of two women from the ceiling. Sam barely noticed the rain, barely noticed the sympathetic looks. He'd been there before. Twice. It was the same as always. He only looked up as Dean approached, tugging on the sleeves of the leather jacket he'd rescued from the blaze. It had, obviously, been their father's.

"You know what this means, right?" Dean asked as he shooed Sam away from the car and pulled open the driver's side door.

Sam nodded, walking around to the passenger side, his appointed spot since Dean had been old enough to drive, and slid into the car. "We've got work to do."

* * *

I know what you're all thinking: OMG! How could she do that? Well, I don't like Cassie, so it was fairly easy to kill her, and conflict makes the world go round (and the story so much more interesting!). Tune in next time! 


	6. Chapter 6

Hm... not too many updates this time. I'm concerned. Where oh where have all my faithful readers gone? Oh, well, time to find out jsut what's going on with our favorite hunters!

* * *

The car sped down the highway, rock music blasting from its speakers once again. Sam didn't know if that should worry him or not. His brother had been uncharacteristically quiet since the fire, but, then again, Sam wasn't exactly sure _what_ Dean's usual character was now. "You all right?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, just thinking," Dean replied sadly, turning the radio down, "that demon's the only thing we know of that can, you know, pin people up and burn them, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"It should be dead. We killed it. You shot dad, and that should have been the end of it, but it's not. The thing's still around. You know what that means?"

"We didn't really kill it, we just thought we did?"

Dean nodded slowly, his eyes suddenly glassy with tears. "Yeah. We shot dad, and while we ran out of the house, the demon left him. It got away when we ran. Dad was still alive when we left that room. He died alone."

Sam sighed. "How could we have possibly known that he wasn't really gone? We shot him with a gun that can kill anything."

"Still, he died alone, Sam. It was right. All those years ago, everything it told me, it was right. He died alone. _I_ died alone. And then it came back and finished everyone else while we went out for _movies_."

"We can't do anything about it now," Sam pointed out, staring at the scenery that flashed by, "just try and find it again. We'll get it this time, no matter what."

Dean glanced at his brother, and actually smiled. He swiped at his eyes and pulled the car onto the shoulder, still grinning slyly. "I've been thinking about that. Do you know how boring it's going to be just sitting around and waiting for the Big Bad to show itself again?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea, but it's better than sitting around and doing nothing."

"But it _is_ doing nothing, Sam. It's a bunch of sitting around and waiting. I don't know about you, but I would rather do something productive while we wait for our favorite bad guy to show up."

"What do you want to do?" Sam asked, knowing that he would probably regret it later.

Dean's grin widened as he reached behind him and into the backseat to dig around. Finally, he pulled out a newspaper clipping, which he shoved in his brother's face.

"Plane mysteriously crashes in New Jersey?" Sam read, pulling the paper out from under his nose and examining the headline, "what's this have to do with anything?"

"This," Dean replied, producing a small black book from the inside pocket of his jacket and holding it out to his brother, "it's dad's journal."

Sam shook his head, shoving the clipping aside and taking the book from his brother. "Hate to break it to you, but dad's journal is clunkier, bigger, and-"

"I said _dad's_ journal, Sam, not _John's_. This little black book has info about every hunt you two ever went on together, as it should. I was considering starting to write around the time you guys fell into my childhood. There's an entry in there about a phantom traveler. That's one of the few things we weren't able to get rid of on our little road trip in '92. What do you think?"

"I think it would have killed someone before now," Sam said, flipping through the small book, "and why go after this one? I thought you afraid of flying."

Dean sighed, grabbing the book back and snapping it shut. "To answer you in order, it's started killing now because dad isn't around to stop it, it's the first thing that we missed that's started up, and I _was_, but a couple of years of flights between California and Missouri changed that."

Sam picked up the clipping and looked it over. There were seven survivors this time, and two of them were flight attendants. "Ok," he sighed, shaking his head, "I'll do it, but we have to keep a lookout for _our_ demon, too."

"Done," Dean grinned, tucking his father's journal back into his jacket and pulling back onto the highway, heading toward New Jersey.

"So," Sam began before his brother had a chance to crank the music up to full-blast again, "you're really all right with flying now? 'Cause you freaked out on me last time."

"Like I said," Dean smiled, blushing slightly, "I _was_ all right. Then, dad took me to see 'Snakes on a Plane.' I was all right with the freaking snakes, but the freaking plane? Let's just say I had a bit of a relapse. I'll be all right, though. It's not like we'll actually let the sucker crash."

* * *

Dean had been right about one thing. It _was_ easier to finish a hunt when you knew exactly what you were dealing with and how to stop it. They knew what they had to take on the plane, which exorcism to perform, and even how much time they had before the plane went down.

Something about the hunt deeply unnerved Sam, though. It was the ease with which his brother got back into the swing of things, shoving the odds and ends needed for demon expulsion into their duffel bag and talking about what they had to do and how they were to do it. It was more than he would have gotten out of the journal.

"Dean," Sam began, walking with his brother into the airport, "1992 was the _only_ time dad took us hunting, right?"

Dean nodded. "Why?"

"It's just… I dunno. Was dad still hunting? After we grew up and moved, did he keep doing it?"

"Sometimes," Dean muttered, averting his eyes and shifting the weight of the bag on his shoulder, "I guess. They were short little weekend-things, and always local. Nothing too dangerous, either. What makes you ask?"

"Just wondering. Did he ever take you?"

Dean chuckled. "He wouldn't have been able to. Not with Cassie and the kids asking questions."

"Are you sure? Because you know where everything is in that truck, you found that plane crash pretty easily, and the way you lied to Jess, like you'd made a living out of it? Have you been out with dad?"

The elder shrugged, staring fixedly down at his shoes. "Maybe. Once or twice. I told Cass we had to go help some friends of his move. She bought it."

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "You don't get to know that trunk inside and out like you do from one or two hunts. You went with him a lot, didn't you? He made you go out with him."

The duffel fell from Dean's shoulder and he turned to face his little brother. "It's not like that," he finally muttered, "I… I asked him if I could tag along. It was fun. Just the two of us, hanging out, making people safe. I _liked_ it. So, I told Cassie what we'd really been doing, and every other weekend dad and I headed out and killed whatever was terrorizing people. But he never _made_ me do anything. I opted out a couple of times, and he was all right with that."

"You _liked_ it? How is that possible?"

Dean shrugged, again, picking up the bag and throwing it over his shoulder as he walked toward the airport. "We had a lot of fun on that road trip. It was a bonding-thing, I guess, and it was exciting. Normal life just gets to be so boring after a while, and saving people, hunting things, it's always different. It's always something new."

"Whatever," Sam said, shaking his head as he pushed past his brother and headed into the airport. It figured. Even in an alternate universe, Dean was still Dean, hunter, protector, and idiot.

* * *

Ooh, a plane ride. A Phantom Traveler. Now, keep your eyes peeled for the next update, which will include a very familiar face I bet you never saw coming... 


	7. Chapter 7

Well, it took me long enough, but here's another chapter. Time to take a little ride on a plane, try to exorcise a demon, and maybe, if the boys get really lucky, they'll meet a new friend (or old enemy?) along the way.

* * *

"So," Dean began slowly as the brothers settled into their seats on the plane, "I'm thinking it'll probably go for the co-pilot, just like it did when you and dad fought it. One of us should try to get to him. Wanna play rock, paper, scissors to decide, or should we just pull straws?"

Sam didn't reply, he was too busy staring at the girl who sat two rows in front of him, a nervous little thing, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a habit of constantly looking at her watch, as if she was timing something. The was something very familiar about her, though Sam couldn't quite place it.

"Hello," Dean hissed, waving his hand in front of the younger man's face, "Earth-to-Sammy. Is anyone in there, or are you off in your own little world?"

Sam jumped a little. "Um, I'm fine, just, uh…" He glanced back at the girl.

"Taking in the sites?" Dean asked, trademarked smirk firmly in place.

"There's something about her," Sam said, "like I know from somewhere, but can't remember."

"Yeah, that's it," Dean scoffed. "it has nothing to do with the fact that she's pretty and you're single again."

"Little soon to be making jokes, don't you think?"

Dean shrugged. "We were too late. We've kicked, screamed, cursed, vowed vengeance, cried our tears, and now we have to move on. Or, make a move, in your case."

Sam sighed and shoved the duffel bag, minus holy water, into the overhead compartment as the 'fasten seatbelt' sign flashed on.

"Let the games begin," Dean muttered as he clicked on the belt. He looked extremely happy, and freakishly in his element.

Five minutes into the flight, the blonde girl Sam could have sworn he knew checked her watch and left her seat, heading up toward the front of the plane. The brothers glanced at each other, both noticing it, but knowing that it was too early for the girl to be possessed.

Twenty minutes later, the girl hadn't returned to her seat, and the Winchesters were beginning to worry. They didn't need to say anything, barely even had to look at each other and nod. They both got up and followed her general direction.

They neared the front of the plane, holy water in hand, readying for a fight. Suddenly, a masculine scream rang out, followed by a very feminine grunt. Again, the brothers only had to glance at each other to know what the other was thinking. They had to find out what was going on, and fast.

A deep blue curtain separate the rest of the plane from a small section just before the cockpit, and the screams were emanating from just beyond it. Unscrewing the cap on his bottle of holy water, Dean began counting down from three. He readied his weapon, and Sam pulled the curtain.

A short woman with blonde hair suddenly found herself being splashed with water, which dripped onto the thrashing man she had pinned to the ground. The book she had beside her was hit, too, blurring the words into unreadable scribbles.

She whipped her head around to stare at the Winchesters, and Sam finally recognized her. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice high with adrenalin and panic, "I'm in the middle of something!"

"An exorcism?" Dean asked, as shocked as Sam looked over the all-too-familiar face of the woman that had tried multiple times to kill his family.

"Well, that _was_ what I was doing, but I can't read it now. What's your problem?"

"We heard screams. We thought you were the demon," Dean explained, flipping quickly through his father's journal as the possessed co-pilot continued to writhe on the floor, "here, we already picked one out. It should work, but there are two parts."

Raising a quizzical brow, the woman took the journal, nodding as she pushed her own book aside.

"She…" Sam muttered, unable to find the words as he watched his adversary of so many years ago begin the exorcism, "she's…"

"A hunter," Dean nodded appreciatively, "and a damn good one to take this thing down, I'm guessing. And not too bad looking, either."

"Dean, no."

"Oh, forget it," Dean chuckled, "you had your chance, Lover Boy. I call her."

"No. Dean, she's a demon," Sam whispered urgently, "she's possessed."

"The holy water-"

"I don't think it'll work on her. Last time, before we killed her, she'd walked right into a church. She killed Jim. Dean, she's evil."

The brothers looked back at the girl, who had just completed the first part of the exorcism. A swirling mass of black vapor rose above her head as the plane began to dive. She tightened her grip on the journal and continued to read, pulling a small flashlight out of her pocket as the lights went out, plunging the plane into darkness.

Sam and Dean stumbled as the plane bumped and lurched, but the girl never faltered, never lost her grip, and kept her cool until the ancient ritual was finished and the aircraft leveled out.

"Well," she said brightly, standing up and turning to face the Winchesters, "that was interesting. I'm-"

"Meg Masters," Sam growled, "I know."

"No freaking way," Dean gasped, his mouth suddenly hanging open, "Meg _Masters_? I can't believe it! You were, like, ten years old last time I saw you."

Meg narrowed her eyes, her nose wrinkling in confusion. "We've met? I mean, you look kind of familiar, but I can't remember where I've seen you."

"You knew our dad. Dean Swanson. He helped you out in Bangor in '92. I'm Dean, this is Sam."

"No way," Meg gushed, "your dad saved my life. It's great to meet you. Man, it _has_ been a while, hasn't it?"

"Not as long as you think," Sam muttered bitterly.

"What?" she asked, handing the little black book back to Dean and cleaning up her own things before following the men back to their seats.

"You obviously know how weird the world can get," Dean began, raking a hand through his hair, "well, Sammy here's proof. This is a long story, so you might want to get comfortable."

* * *

"That's why you look so much like your dad," Meg nodded, picking at her oh-so-wonderful airport cuisine, "he's you. And you," she turned to Sam, her eyes darting over his lanky form as they sat in the small café, "you should know that I'm perfectly normal now. Your dad got rid of that demon and saved me from a lifetime of torture. He was a great guy. I'm really sorry about what happened to him."

Sam shook his head. "Everyone keeps telling me how great he was, how awesome my life is. I'm kind of jealous. Seems like everyone but me knows about my childhood."

"You'll get those memories back," Meg said, smiling warmly, "eventually. You'll just need a trigger of some sort." She slid her hand over his and looked up into his eyes, still smiling. The move didn't go unnoticed by either Winchester.

"Well, we're still looking for that trigger," Dean said a little bitterly, "until then, we're after the demon that seems to like torturing us."

"Well, I'm not planning on doing anything big in the next few months. If you guys think you could use a little help, I'd be glad to oblige."

Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean beat him to a reply. "That'd be great. We can use all the help we can get. We were actually planning on laying low, just going after some comparatively small stuff, while we search for the son of a bitch. Another set of eyes is more than welcome."

Meg smiled, not as warmly this time, and nodded as she stood up and went to toss the remainder of her lunch in the nearest garbage can.

"What are you thinking?" Sam asked, "for all we know, she could be possessed right now!"

"She's not," Dean replied, watching their new ally, "I can tell. She may have been evil when you knew her, but not now."

"She's just a liability."

"She can take care of herself. She's been researching and tracking demons since she was ten. She'll be fine."

"You like her, don't you?" Sam asked as realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

Dean snorted. "No. She's not my type. Maybe _yours_, but not mine. It wouldn't work out."

Sam nodded, recognizing the lie for what it was almost immediately.

* * *

See, told you there would be a familiar face. Just not who you all expected, right? 


	8. Chapter 8

Yep, it was Meg. Quite a surprise, huh? I guess it's time to se if she's wound up like the res tof the world, all out of whack thanks to Dean.

* * *

Sam glanced back in the rearview mirror as the Impala sped towards Blue Earth, Minnesota and Pastor Jim Murphy's home. The old red Ford was still following them, Meg behind the wheel. Sam shuddered, still unable to trust her.

"You know," Dean sighed, "if you're that cold I can turn down the air. Unless, that is, you're scared of something. Maybe the little blonde girl with the charming smile who seems interested in our newly-widowed psychic?"

"First of all," Sam scowled, "I'm a _widower_, not a widow. Second, I'm not scared of her. Just nervous about her coming along."

"You shouldn't be. She's fine. I have a sixth sense about these things."

Sammy snorted. "Sure you do. But why Pastor Jim's? Why not just find a nice motel room and hole up?"

Dean glanced at him, trying to think up a Saddam Hussein joke to go along with the reference to holing up. When he couldn't find a good one, he shrugged. "Jim'll have something for us to hunt. It's a good way to keep occupied while we wait for the Big Bad to come back after us."

"Should we really be hunting, though? I mean, we could just try to find the demon, instead of waiting for it to find us. We should go after it, or at least conserve our energy for when it attacks."

"Relax," the elder sighed, rolling his eyes, "I've been hunting before, and you've got over twenty years of experience under your belt. Nothing's going to happen to us."

"But it's dangerous, and dad isn't here to protect you anymore."

"I know that. I've got you now, and you've got my back. I trust you."

Sam stared at his brother. He'd almost felt back at home, back in his own timeline, where things didn't always make sense and Dean was always there to greet him with a smug smirk. But things were never that simple, and no one was the same as he remembered. All it took to remind Sam of that was an inkling of emotion from his older brother.

"You know," Sam said after a short pause, "where I come from, Meg was the one that killed Jim."

"And where I come from, it's cornbread and chicken," Dean smirked, turning up the radio until Sam was sure that even Meg in the car behind them could hear it, "things are different now. You'll see, Sammy. She's good people."

* * *

"So, who's this friend of yours?" Meg asked as she attempted to shove half of a hamburger into her mouth in one bite.

"Jim Murphy," Dean replied, watching her eat with a mixture of disgust and fascination written on his face, "he's a Pastor up in Blue Earth. He helped John with a few hunts and gave our dad some money to start out back in '89. You'll love him."

"Or kill him," Sam muttered as Meg's face fell and she swallowed everything she'd stuffed in her mouth.

"Jim Murphy?" she asked, wiping her face off on her shirt sleeve, "that's who we're going to see?"

"Yeah," Dean said, suddenly concerned, "you know him?"

"He's dead. It happened two months ago. I was up in that area, and heard that he'd been killed. I thought that maybe it was something supernatural, you know, because of what he did, but I was wrong. It had been a burglar, breaking into his house. The guy had panicked and shot him."

Dean hung his head. "Man. That's terrible. I guess we have to change our course now, huh? Maybe we can head to Caleb's in Lincoln. We're closer to Nebraska, anyway."

"Actually," Meg began, "he was a close friend of mine. There was a car accident right before I left for New Jersey. It was kind of a freak thing. The brakes on the truck behind him gave out and his car got sandwiched between a semi and a Toys R Us. He was crushed to death."

"Dad and Jim and Caleb," Dean sighed, "that's a weird coincidence."

"Too weird," Sam said, getting up and leaving the restaurant where they'd stopped for lunch after a long morning's drive. Dean and Meg watched him leave, looking at each other questioningly.

Finally, Sam returned, his laptop in one hand, the little black book in the other. "I have a theory," he announced as he sat down and set up a temporary work station, "I think I know why the demon suddenly came back, why those three people specifically died in freak accidents."

"Dad was possessed, Jim got shot, and Caleb… well, _that_ was kind of freaky," Dean said, "but I doubt there's a pattern. I mean, shit happens and you can't avoid it sometimes."

"Meg," Sam asked, ignoring his brother, "do you know what Jim's killer was after? Did he take anything?"

"No," she shook her head, "ran out after he killed the Pastor. Nothing was missing. Why?"

"And that demon just hung out all that time and waited for the perfect opportunity to kill Jess? I don't think so. Something triggered all of this, something big."

"Sam," Dean said, inching closer to his brother in the booth and looking over the taller man's shoulder at the journal and laptop screen, "what are you getting at?"

"All of those people we helped on that road trip," Sam explained, "the ones that were supposed to die. What happened to them?"

Dean shrugged. "They're alive. We saved them."

"Did we? Or did we just buy them some more time? Look," he turned the screen so that the other two hunters could see it, "coroner's reports for two people who would have been torn apart by shadow demons in Chicago."

"We never went after shadows," Dean explained, "that's why the people still died."

"We didn't have to go after the shadows," Sam said, "Meg was the one that unleashed them and sent them after those people. Without her to control them, those folks should have lived. The man was crushed when his apartment building collapsed and the woman was the victim of a hit-and-run. Both accidents happened three months ago."

"Like your brother said," Meg began, "shit happens. Wrong places, wrong times."

"But these other people," Sam explained, turning the screen back and typing something quickly, "the people who were supposed to die in Lake Manitoc, in Black Water Ridge, in Cape Girardeau, in Birkitsville, _everywhere_, they're all dead now. Most everyone we helped is dead."

"But I'm not," Meg said, "and there are bound to be others. Maybe it's a coincidence."

"They were all freak accidents," Sam argued, "weird things that shouldn't have even happened. It's almost like the world is righting itself after we messed it up, like everything's going back to the way it's supposed to be."

Dean smirked. "So, what you're telling me is that we're stuck in a 'Final Destination' movie? All those people were supposed to be dead, and now Death is pissed at us? Come on, man, that's farfetched, even for us."

"It makes sense, though," Meg admitted, "it's possible that when you messed up the time stream, there was a little backlash. You saved those people, bought them some time with their families, and then they died a few years later."

Sammy nodded, shutting the laptop. "If it's true, then the demon's just a pawn. It might even be why it went through the wormhole in the first place, why it didn't die when we shot it in Missouri. We weren't supposed to kill it. Not yet, anyway."

"Assuming you've actually got something here," Dean sighed, "then, John's death didn't effect anything because he was supposed to die in the first place, and dad only died because I'm here, and there can't be two of me. Jess died because she was supposed to, and the kids shouldn't even have existed. But why Cassie?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe she was destined to die anyway. Who knows? The point is, we have a lot of dead bodies and nothing to do but wait for our demon friend."

Meg nodded, finishing off the rest of her lunch. "And I'm running out of time. You think I'm the only one who hasn't kicked the bucket yet?"

Sammy shook his head. "Not by a long-shot. There are probably still people from the original phantom traveler flight, and maybe a few other stragglers that we don't know by name. And Max Miller, I searched his name and didn't get anything."

"That's because Miller isn't his last name anymore," Dean said, "dad took him out of the house, got him away from the people that were hurting him. He got adopted. He got a nice family. I think he's Max Randall now. Last I heard, he was living in New York. He's one of those corporate types. Dad and I went to see him a few years back, just to make sure he was all right."

Sam grabbed his laptop and flipped it on, typing the new name as fast as he could and hitting the enter key as Meg took their trash across the restaurant to dump it. Max Randall was indeed a corporate tycoon, one that was, thankfully, still alive.

"All right," Sam announced as Meg returned, "He's still around, but he's like me. He's psychic, and that demon will be after him. We need to find him and warn him."

"Not a problem," Dean grinned, standing up and stretching, "where's he hang his hat?"

"His company's centered in New York City, but he has a summer home in Lake Moore. It's in the northern section of the state."

With that, the three hunters headed out of the small restaurant and back to their cars, leaving the state of Iowa behind them.

* * *

So, Meg and Max. What could be better. Oh, yeah, I killed Cassie. That's better :) 


	9. Chapter 9

Well, another day, another chapter. Let's hope it's a good one :)

* * *

"It almost makes you believe in destiny, doesn't it?" Sam asked, tearing the Impala from the grips of an uncomfortable silence, "I mean, all of those people dying. It's enough to make me question what he did, staying behind. Do you think he knew?"

"That the world would go 'Final Destination' on our asses? Maybe." Dean replied, staring blankly a the road ahead.

"And he still did it? Why?"

The elder shrugged. "To give us a fighting chance, Sammy. He wanted to change our lives, and he did. He gave us a home and a family and that normalcy you'd apparently always wanted. He gave those people a few more years of life, more time to be together. Even though it all came crashing down, dad did the right thing. He changed _everything_."

Sam snorted, shaking his head and glancing out the window at the quickly passing scenery. "No, he didn't. He might have tried, but in the end, we wound up right back where we started. Just you and me, on the road. No wives, no kids, no parents, no friends. We live in a car, sleep in motels, and we kill. We don't have jobs, we make no money, and we deal with death everyday."

"Maybe it doesn't seem to you like anything's changed, but it has. Sure, the world's back where it was when you left it, but not everything's the same. _We've_ changed, Sam. Dad changed _us_."

"No, he changed _you_. _I'm _the same, and I'm right back where I started."

Dean glanced quickly at his younger brother, who was still gazing out the window. The taller man didn't notice the subtle fear in his brother's eyes or the concerned expression that crossed his suddenly pale face, he just watched the rows of corn and herds of cattle pass as the Impala neared its destination, which happened to be a run-down motel just outside of Toledo.

* * *

The prim woman, somewhere in her mid-fifties, looked sternly over her glasses at the three people sitting across from her. She glanced back down at the papers in front of her and clicked her tongue disapprovingly. She shuffled the papers, then sat them down on the desk that separated her from the small, broken family.

"Mr. Swanson," she began, her voice surprisingly deep for a woman's, "we would love to welcome Samuel into our school. Despite the, uh, situation with his biological father, he seems to have adjusted well to his new life. His records from the other schools are marvelous." She beamed down at the shaggy-haired little boy.

"Somehow, I knew you'd say that," the proud father smiled, wrapping a congratulatory arm around his new son.

"However," the principal continued, breaking up the happy-family moment, "your other son-"

"Dean?"

"Yes, Dean." There was no warmth in her voice, no kindness in her eyes, just a sort of mistrust that no one present liked. "He has a habit of skipping class, has accumulated over three hundred sick days, and has flunked everything but gym class, which he got steady D's in."

"Well," the boy's father began, jumping to his son's rescue, "their father was-"

"A loon. Yes, you told me. He was crazy, kidnapped the boys, filled their heads with nonsensical stories, and finally shot himself. That doesn't excuse Dean's tendency to fight in the schoolyard, doesn't exempt him from special education programs-"

"Special ed? You're kidding, right? This kid's smart, he just hasn't had a proper chance to show it yet."

"Our school is for learning, Mr. Swanson, not second chances. I'm sorry."

"You can't keep him out. It's a public school. I can prove he's not mentally handicapped, too."

The principal sighed, hanging her head. This man was different than the other parents she talked to. There was a look in his eyes that she didn't see often, a look that said he'd seen it all and ready to protect his children from it, even if they weren't biologically his.

"Fine," she conceded, "both children are welcome, and we'll try the elder out in regular classes. However, he's only got one chance. Fighting of any kind will not be tolerated and will result in a suspension."

"What have you got against him?" the man asked as his eldest boy looked down at the floor and kicked at his chair, "he's just a kid."

"I have learned from experience," the principal muttered, pursing her lips in agitation, "that children like Dean cannot be _raised. _They are not like other children. They are feral, and must, therefore, be _tamed_. When you signed on as their guardian, I don't think you realized what you were getting into. That one's trouble, Mr. Swanson. Keep a close eye on him. I know I will."

A small flicker of a smile touched the man's lips as his muscles tensed and his teeth clenched. He was getting angry, she could tell. "Do we really need to discuss this in front of the children?" he asked.

The principal just nodded. "It's better that they know. One of them will always be welcome here. The other will be watched, hovered over, like some sort of dangerous animal. And if he should attack one of my students, he will be removed and dealt with."

It was at that point that the principal realized she'd said the wrong thing. Something flashed in the man's eyes, something wild, and feral, and dangerous, and she was scared. However, that flash of purest rage passed quickly, and Dean stood up and left, taking his sons with him. They would find a different school, a private one if need be, that would accept both children for who they were.

* * *

It wasn't like the nightmares he'd had most of his life. It wasn't terrifying, and it wasn't a premonition. It was a memory, he was sure of it, seen from a different vantage point than the original experience.

"Morning, sleepy-head," Dean smiled, turning from the laptop to face his brother, who was slowly rolling off the bed.

"I had the weirdest dream," Sam muttered, scratching his head and opening the bathroom door.

"Yeah, you were muttering something about wild animals. What was that about?"

"I think it was a memory," Sam said, sticking his head out of the bathroom door before turning on the shower.

"So you're dreaming in memories now?" Dean asked, "who are you, Kyle XY?"

Sam's head made another appearance. "Who?"

"Never mind," Dean chuckled, waving his hand absently in the air, "listen, I got up early this morning and talked to Meg, who's got a friend that tracks alien activity. There've been some cattle mutilations up in the Lake Moore area. Sounds like our friend's finally showing himself."

"Convenient," Sam yelled over the white noise of the shower, "we were just heading up that way."

"Yeah. We should watch our backs, huh?"

Sam nodded his agreement, though his brother couldn't see him. The door was closed, the shower running, and Sam began thinking. He'd been getting little fragments of his new life before 2006 off and on since the wedding, but nothing as long and detailed as the dream he'd just had.

It was such a small, random, scene. Getting accepted into an elementary school had nothing to do with his life, and certainly held no relevance when going up against the demon that had taken his wife and daughter. So why dream about something that happened 20 years ago?

* * *

Yes, Sam, why? And what about Meg? And is Max in trouble? And Dean reeally watches Kyle XY? That was unexpected! 


	10. Chapter 10

Well, for all of you who've been waiting for some Dean/Meg goodness... this chapter is as close as I can get without puking, so enjoy!

* * *

"Ok, Dean," he muttered to himself, raking his hands through his untidy hair and mustering up his courage, "you can do this. Just do it. You'll be fine." He didn't believe himself, though. He'd only met his wife because his father had pushed him in the right direction, and he'd never really had a serious girlfriend before Cassie. Worst of all, he was scared to death. What if she said no? What if she didn't want him?

"Just do it, man," he hissed, reaching out one shaking hand and knocking lightly on the door.

"Who is it?" a suspicious female voice called out.

"It's me," Dean replied, his voice wavering with nerves as he tried to calm himself. The woman on the other side of the flimsy piece of wood the motel owners called a door was going to die soon, he knew that. But maybe he could protect her, just as his father had always protected him. Maybe he could save her life, keep her longer. Maybe she would want him when no one else would. Maybe he could start again.

The door opened suddenly to reveal Meg, wearing a baggy t-shirt and blue jeans. "Come on in," she said, stepping back to allow him entrance, "is something wrong?"

"Uh, no. Nothing's wrong. Sam agrees with us on our whole 'the demon knows we're coming' theory, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh? What, then?" She closed the door slowly and watched the young hunter she'd met on the plane. He was nervous about something, it didn't take a genius to figure that out. _What_ he was nervous about, however, was a mystery.

"Um, well, I was kind of wondering," he floundered, glancing nervously at everything in the room but Meg, "if you maybe kind of wanted to, you know, possibly go out with me sometime. You know, while we still have a chance. I was thinking that tonight would be nice, but if you're busy…"

Meg bit her tongue to stifle a laugh. The man in front of her seemed positively terrified, which struck her as odd after the stories his brother had told her about their earlier, original hunts. It was so much fun watching him squirm, she almost forgot to reply.

"Well?" Dean asked, his eyes pleading desperately for a positive response.

"I'm sorry," Meg finally said, smiling, "but I can't. I'm just not interested. You're a great guy and everything, but-"

"You like Sam."

It wasn't a question, but a statement, one so filled with rejection, bitterness, and resentment that Meg's smile faltered. "Maybe," she replied, "but-"

"It's all right," the elder Winchester said, hanging his head, "I get it. You want something normal, predictable, good. I got it. I'll just, um, show myself out." He left the room, head still down.

Meg ran to the window and threw back the thick curtains in time to see her new friend disappear across the parking lot, heading for the small array of shops that sat in the downtown area.

* * *

Sam sighed, glancing back at his watch. He'd called his brother half an hour ago, and the elder hadn't shown up. Meg had left earlier that morning, around the time Sam had walked out of the shower to find his brother gone. She had told him it was probably nothing and that she would scout ahead. She now had a larger head start than Sam had imagined she would, and that worried him.

Finally, he spotted a familiar leather-jacket-clad figure trudging through the parking lot. As Dean got closer, Sam had to blink and rub his eyes just to make sure he was seeing the right person. His eyes seemed to be in fine working order, and the hunter left his motel room, locking the door behind him as his brother approached.

"You cut your hair," Sam marveled, grinning at the short, familiar style.

"Yeah," Dean replied, shrugging, "so?"

"So, you don't look like a member of a boy band anymore!"

Dean scowled. "I was going for the whole 'Leo DiCaprio' look. I guess it's better than being mistaken for one of the old Duke boys, though, huh, Luke?" He smirked briefly, taking the car keys from his pocket, and climbed in behind the wheel.

"Meg left already," Sam informed, "she said she'd meet us there."

"Great," Dean sighed, "climb in and we'll head on up to New York."

"So," Sammy began as the car's engine revved, "what made you decide to change your style?"

Dean shrugged, pulling slowly out of the parking lot. "I dunno. Just thought it might look better short. Be easier to see on hunts, you know?"

Sam nodded, though something didn't feel right. His brother was hiding something from him, something big.

* * *

Of course, when Sam had suggested they pull the Impala over just north of the New York state line for gas, Dean had refused, and, of course, the car had sputtered to a stop near an old antique shop. The younger man had grudgingly helped his brother push the car into the store's lot.

Dean had pulled an old gas can from the trunk, only to find that it was empty. Sam had agreed to stay and 'protect the car' while his brother hitchhiked to the nearest gas station. Now the younger stood, facing the road and looking for his brother, as some sort of auction went on in the shop behind him.

"Excuse me," a sweet, feminine voice asked cautiously as a light hand touched Sam's shoulder, "but are you here for the auction?"

The hunter turned to find himself staring into a very familiar face. "Um, no," he managed weakly, his pulse suddenly quickening as he met Sarah Blake's eyes, "my brother and I are on a road trip and our car ran out of gas. I'm waiting for him to get back."

"Oh, a road trip?" she asked, smiling, "that sounds like fun. Where you headed?"

"Lake Moore," Sam nodded, "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Sarah. Um, I should probably get back in there. My dad'll have my head if I miss a minute of the action. It was nice meeting you."

Sam waved as she walked quickly back into the antique shop. He suddenly felt as if his whole world had been turned upside down. He'd forgotten about Sarah, about the way he'd felt when he'd been with her. Best of all, she was safe. If he could find her again, after finally destroying the demon, maybe things would work out. He could start over, and-

"You loved her, didn't you?" Dean asked, startling Sam from his thoughts. The older man had suddenly appeared, clutching a heavy gas can, and stood watching the antique shop door. "In that other time of yours, with Jess gone, you loved her."

Sam nodded as the form of the young woman disappeared into the shop. "Yeah, I did."

"Ok," Dean began, taking the gas can and starting to refill the tank, "random question time. Did _I_ ever have anyone like that? You know, anyone other than Cassie? Someone I just clicked with?"

Sam thought about it as he climbed back into the car. "Uh, no, man. Not that I can remember, anyway. Why?"

Dean sighed, finishing with the gas and replacing the can in the trunk. "No reason."

* * *

All right, well, to sum everything up: Dean's acting weird, jsut got a haircut, and the boys are heading up to Lake Moore to check on Max. Any questions? No? Good! 


	11. Chapter 11

Well, thanks to ewveryone who's reviewed so far. Now, what do you say we get on with another chapter of the story, huh?

* * *

The drive to Lake Moore was anything but silent, what with the best of mullet rock blaring from the speakers. The two passengers barely said a word, though. Dean just drove, never even took his eyes off the road, and Sam got the uneasy feeling that something was terribly wrong with his brother. Even worse, it felt like they were walking blindly into a trap, even knowing that the demon was in town.

"So," Dean finally said as they passed a sign declaring that they'd entered the peaceful town of Lake Moore, "Meg told you where she's staying?"

"A nice motel on the other side of town," Sam replied, reaching forward and turning down the radio, "she said she got two rooms. One for her, one for us."

Dean nodded. "Sounds great, but I'd rather see Max before we unpack, if that's all right with you."

"No objection," Sam replied, not really in the mood for an argument. Besides, he was more than just a little curious to see what had happened to Max Miller since the last time they'd met, which, as far as Sam could remember, was the time Max shot his brother in the head.

The Impala zoomed past the motel where Meg's old Ford was parked, heading straight for the scattering of cabins around the lake. Finally, as they neared the summerhouses of the rich and famous, Sam asked the question that had been burning in his mind all day.

"Meg told me you asked her out today," he began quietly, "any reason?"

Dean just shrugged, his face suddenly becoming still, as if he was trying unsuccessfully to create some kind of mask to hide behind. Sam realized that his brother probably hadn't had to hide any emotion since he was ten, but why was he trying to hide now?

"You think she's hot?" Sam prodded.

Again, his brother shrugged.

"Because, you know, she's not _that_ good looking, and she was possessed when I knew her, so-"

"She turned me down. Did she tell you that?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, she picked _you_. Girls always picked you. There's nothing wrong with you. They want you because you're normal, and you're perfect, and you're not some kind of wild animal."

_Children like Dean cannot be _raised_. They are not like other children. They are feral, and must, therefore, be _tamed

It made sense. He'd had the dream because he'd needed to know where it was coming from, needed to know that it wasn't just some off-the-wall comment, but a real memory, a problem that had to be faced.

"You're not an animal, and I'm not perfect."

"Could have fooled me," Dean muttered as he parked the car in front of one of the large cabins.

* * *

"You look exactly like your father!" Max gushed as he ushered the Winchester brothers into his well-furnished summer home, "I mean, the resemblance is really uncanny! It's amazing!"

"Yeah, well," Dean grinned, shrugging as Max offered him a seat, "we got that a lot."

"Got?"

"He, um, he died earlier this month," Sam explained, "and a week after that we lost everyone else in a fire."

"That's terrible," Max said, his voice cracking with sadness, "I'm so sorry."

"So are we," Dean said sadly, "but we didn't come all this way just to bring you down. Actually, we wanted to warn you."

"Warn me?" Max asked, running a tanned hand through his long hair. He definitely looked healthier than the last time Sam had seen him. "Warn me about what?"

"The thing that killed your biological mother," Sam said, still marveling at the slight muscles visible under the younger man's light jacket, "it's back. We thought we'd killed it a long time ago, but we were wrong. That's what killed our father. It's killed our whole family now, and we don't want it getting you, too."

"That's not the only thing you should worry about, though," Dean added quickly, "watch out for freak accidents a la 'Final Destination.' Trust me on this one."

"Freak accidents?" Max asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down, "Like, what, a plane motor crashing suddenly to Earth and beheading me?"

Dean nodded. "Something along those lines, yeah. You just need to be careful until we can figure out a way to save you again."

Max grinned, his eyes sparkling, and, in the sunlight, seeming to turn yellow for a split second. "Well, it's good to know that the Winchesters have got my back," he said as his eyes returned to their familiar light blue.

Sam narrowed his eyes, staring at Max, who had begun a conversation with Dean about what they'd been up to since their last meeting. Something was off about the younger man. His eyes had been yellow, Sam had seen that, was sure of it. The demon had already gotten to him.

Suddenly, Max snapped his head around to glare at Sam. "What's that, Psychic Boy? Don't trust me?"

Before Sam could react, he felt himself flying through the air to be pinned up against one of the cabin's wooden walls. Dean stumbled from the couch as the demon stood and neared Sam. Suddenly, the elder Winchester flew the length of the room, crashing into the wall hard enough to splinter the wood paneling.

"Don't interfere," the demon hissed with Max's voice as the businessman's eyes turned a sickly shade of yellow, "for your own sake, boy, don't interfere."

"The hell I won't," Dean shouted, trying desperately to tear the creature's murky gaze from his little brother, "you made us kill our father. I'm not letting you take Sam, too."

"Newsflash, genius," the Big Bad shouted, turning on Max's heels and walking quickly to Dean, "that man wasn't your father. He wasn't even your uncle. He was _you,_ and you let him die all alone, without anyone in the world to care or mourn."

"_I_ cared," Dean whispered, his face set, eyes shining with fear, "_I_ mourned."

"You mourned for yourself, yes," the demon smirked, "but no one else really gave a crap about the man. Sammy sure didn't care. Didn't even shed a tear. He's hardly even registered the fact that he's gone."

"That's not his fault," Dean said, "it's not his fault he doesn't remember."

"No, it's not, is it?" the demon asked, standing less than three inches away from the man pinned to the wall and looking smugly up at him, "it's _yours_. If it wasn't for you and your pathetic _issues_ none of this would be a problem for Sam. Everything bad that's ever happed to him, to _anyone_ in this world is your fault. You and your selfish ways. Tisk tisk, Dean. I'm disappointed."

"Hey," Sam shouted, realizing what the demon was doing and trying to draw its attention away from his brother, "I'm getting kind of bored over here."

The Big Bad ignored him, focusing mainly on Dean, its eyes glinting with cold malice. "Your brother doesn't need you. He could go off on his own at any time. He proved that when he got back from his little time trip, didn't he, Deanster? Oh, yeah, he just up and left."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "He had his reasons."

"Oh, yes, wanting to get as far away from you as possible. He hates you. You're just a nuisance to him."

"Sticks and stones," Dean smiled.

The demon smirked. "Yes, you pretend that words can never hurt you, but they cut deep, don't they? Deeper than you like to go. If you prefer, though, I can always resort to _physical_ torture."

"I'd like to see you try."

Sam moaned, knowing all too well what was coming. The ripping of flesh, the pain-filled cries, blood dripping slowly form his older brother's mouth as the usually-strong man begged for mercy. He didn't want to see it again.

The demon took a step back, lowering its stolen eyes, the smug grin never leaving Max's face. Slowly, it brought its head up, light red hair falling out of its face to reveal those blazing yellow eyes as Dean realized his mistake. Screams filled the cabin as the front door burst open and Meg rushed in, clutching the antique Colt to her chest.

The Big Bad turned, snarling, and waved an arm through the air, sending Meg flying as she aimed and pulled the trigger, hitting the demon square in the middle of the forehead.

Max's body fell to floor as Sam and Dean were released from their invisible prisons. Sam landed on his feet while his weakened brother slid into a kneeling position.

The younger hunter's primary concern, though, was Meg, who had sailed through the air to fall back against an ornate candle sconce. She was stuck to the wall, the metal fixture jammed painfully through her back and penetrating her chest.

"Meg," Sam began, stumbling clumsily over to where she had landed, "oh, no, Meg…"

"Make sure," the tiny blonde gasped, "that it's dead. Make sure I didn't die… for nothing." She managed a weak smile before falling limp, her last breath hissing slowly from between barely-parted lips.

Nodding, Sam wandered over to where Max's body lay and checked for a pulse, though he could tell by the condition of the body that the young man was no longer alive.

Finally, he turned to his brother, who was attempting to stand. "Didn't think he'd actually do it, did you?" Sam asked angrily.

Dean blinked a couple of times, finally gaining his feet, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell onto the hardwood floor, motionless except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

* * *

Wow, I'm evil, huh? I killed two characters and left another one wounded. Now it's time to see if the demon's words ring true and Sammy leaves his brother yet again... 


	12. Chapter 12

Well, the demon's dead again. That's my summary of last chapter. Oh, yeah, Meg's gone, too. Otherwise, the whole thing was pretty uneventful, wouldn't you say?

* * *

Machines beeped and hummed as Sam watched his brother sleep. But was that man really his brother? Since cutting his hair, he _looked_ more like the man Sam could remember growing up with, but he was still different. It was more than unnerving, it was downright terrifying.

So, Sam had made a decision. He wasn't going to sit back and let his life spiral right back into the crazy mess it had been before. He was going to take the initiative this time. He'd finished college, was sure he had a savings account of some kind, and knew he could successfully start over. The only thing stopping him was Dean.

He could remember the way his brother had taken it when he'd found out Sam was leaving, the way he'd looked. He'd refused to say it, but Sammy could tell he'd been scared, hurt, maybe even a little jealous. Now, though, Dean wasn't afraid to talk, and that, more than anything, worried Sam. What would his brother say now that he had the courage to talk?

In the room's single bed, Dean began to stir, groaning as he fought his way out of the sweet sleep the doctors had induced when he'd been brought into the ER, broken and bloody. It hadn't been as bad as it could be, but two lives had been lost. Both Max and Meg were dead. And Sam was going to get on with his life.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he smiled, moving closer to the bed as Dean blinked groggily and looked around, "what's up?"

"Where am I?"

"You're in a hospital, you big idiot. Didn't dad never tell you that it's not smart to taunt demons?"

Dean shook his head. "Didn't think he had to, He told me it isn't nice to marry your sister, though." He smirked.

"If you're saying what I think you're saying," Sam grinned, "it's never gonna happen. I like you and all, but not like that."

"Where's Meg?"

Sam's face fell. "She rushed in at the last minute. She's the one that shot Max. She saved your life, man."

"The movie's over, isn't it?" Dean asked, hanging his head, "the sign fell, the grill blew up, the train crashed. She's gone, right?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "she's gone. Impaled. But she saved you. I was wrong about her. She was a good person."

Dean agreed, bobbing his head once and swiping inconspicuously at his eyes, as if he didn't want Sam to know what he was really doing. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days. The doctors say you'll be ready to leave in about a week, which is good, because I'd hate to take your car and leave you here."

"What's that mean?" Dean asked, but the look on his face said that he already knew.

Sam stood up and crossed to the other end of the room, where he glanced out a window and stared at the sky, trying to avoid his brother's accusing, bedridden gaze. "I've been thinking," he began, still staring out the window at a dreary grey sky, "now that the demon's gone, I mean, actually _gone_, I think it would be good for me to pick up the pieces and start over. I was thinking I could try my luck back in California, but I don't have a car. You can take me, right?"

"Of course," Dean said, smiling sadly, "we can rent out the old apartment. I know it's not much, but it's where we grew up. We can stay there while we get ourselves back up on our feet. I guess I can probably get a job at that daycare dad worked at, maybe give music lessons in my spare time, and-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, finally turning to face the older man, who looked so weak laying in the hospital bed, "no. I have to do this alone. You can't stay with me."

"But, Sam-"

"Listen, man, you have to let me go. You need to let me have my own life. I don't understand your problem with me striking out on my own."

"It's not that," Dean muttered, "I'm all for you being happy, man, it's just… what's gonna happen to _me_?"

Sam turned away, noticing the glassy look in his brother's eyes. "I dunno," he shrugged, "I guess you'll keep hunting, huh?"

"I can't. Not alone. I don't know how."

"Of course you do. You were ready to take on that phantom traveler."

"But not _alone_. You were there. I used to have dad. You and he had memories and training that I never got. You had experience and practice and if I go out there now I'll get myself killed. I can't do it alone, Sam, I'm not good enough. I never was."

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"I want to go with you, or I want you to come with me. I dunno, Sam, I just want to stick together. We're all we've got now."

Sam sighed, still avoiding his brother's gaze. He wanted to go off on his own, to get back in touch with reality, to find someone he'd never met before. He needed to get to know someone who hadn't known him before, someone who would take him the way he was, messed-up childhood and all.

"Sammy? Come on, you can't really be thinking about abandoning your own brother, can you?"

Suddenly, he was angry. He didn't know why, but he supposed it had something to do with spending two years in a world that he didn't remember. That pent-up hostility had to go somewhere, right? Unfortunately, it chose that point in time to lash out at the person who needed Sam most.

"You're not my brother," the taller man mumbled, "my brother's… I don't even know where he is. I guess he's dead. But that's not right, that guy was too different. _You're _too different. Why can't things just be the same again? Why can't you just be who you were?"

"You think I'm not trying?" Dean replied meekly, the desperate tone in his voice causing Sam to turn suddenly and face him, "because I am. I'm trying to be who you need me to be, Sam, I really am, but-"

"My real brother never cried," Sam stated coldly, "he never would have told me he was trying to change for me and he certainly wouldn't be crying about it. He wouldn't have cried over dad's death, or over anyone else. My real brother isn't pathetic like you are."

Dean's face fell so suddenly that Sam thought he might have passed out, but the older man was still there. The tears stopped flowing and his voice and face lacked emotion, but he was there, awake. "I just want to go with you. Is that really too much to ask?"

"It is, Dean, because I don't _want_ you to come with me. I want to be alone. I don't want to have anything to do with this messed up life and I certainly don't want-"

"Me," Dean interrupted, snapping his brother back into reality with such force that it hurt, "you don't want me. It's all right. I get it. I'll take you to California just as soon as I get out of here, I'll drop you off, and I won't look back. No worries."

Sam sighed, realizing too late what had happened, realizing that he'd said all the wrong things to the last person that truly cared about him, the last person that knew what he'd been through. "Dean," he attempted, "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. But it's OK. I understand, man. You're back where you started, and you don't want to be there. There's nothing wrong with that."

The mask was up, getting better, getting stronger. Finally, Sam recognized the man in the hospital bed. It was his brother, the one he could remember growing up with, the man who'd broken down in Chicago and Salvation, who'd let himself be attacked by a demon just to save the family. He was looking into the face of the man who'd stayed in 1989 because he didn't want this to happen. Everything he'd done, saving those people, giving Sam a normal life, even giving himself the attention he'd needed, it had all been in vain, because Sammy was right back where he'd started.

* * *

Ooh, Sam... why'd you have to go and bite Dean's head off like that? Stay tuned! 


	13. Chapter 13

Well, that was an uinteresting chapter, huh? I guess only time can tell what's going to happen to our boys now...

* * *

Dean hadn't said much at all since leaving Lake Moore, he just sat behind the wheel and navigated the twists and turns of the highway. He'd been so quiet, in fact, that when he asked Sam if it was all right to take a shortcut through Lawrence, Sam had jumped high enough to hit his head.

Rock music blasted from the radio as Dean, with his shortened hair and dirty leather jacket, recounted the last time they'd been to the town. It had, of course, been 1992, and, even though Sam wasn't really interested in the story, he listened. His brother was talking, and that was all that really mattered.

"So we pulled into town," Dean explained, "and dad figured he'd just purify the house before that poltergeist came out to play. He hadn't known it was already there. The house was abandoned at the time, in-between owners, and we got in without a problem. Then dad was pinned against the wall, right off the bat. Then, mom showed up."

Sam glanced at his brother, who had trailed off, lost in thought. The older man's eyes were misty, and a large, uncharacteristic smile was planted on his face. He sighed, easing off the gas as they passed the old house.

"What happened then?" Sam asked, suddenly curious.

Dean snapped out of his head and continued. "Well, not much. She, uh," he paused, obviously thinking, before continuing, "she saved him. She pulled a major pyrotechnics act and cleansed the house. Why?"

Sam shrugged, turning to look out the window, his eyelids growing heavy for no reason he could comprehend. "No reason. What about, uh, Missouri? You meet her?"

"Briefly," Dean replied, turning down the music as he watched his little brother nod off, "she was OK, I guess. Didn't seem to like dad much, though."

* * *

"Please," the man pinned to the wall whispered as the burning entity entered the room, "please, both of them. Talk to both of them. He needs his mother, he needs to know… don't let him be like me."

The fire died slowly away, revealing a beautiful blonde woman, who smiled down at both of the boys in the room.

"Mom?" the oldest one, whose freckles were already beginning to fade, asked, rubbing his eyes. The woman nodded as he ran into her arms, sobbing.

"Dean," she said sweetly, "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you, too," Dean said, smiling widely and turning to beckon his little brother over, "come on, Sammy, mom's here."

The younger boy slowly approached the woman, then began smiling as she scooped him up into her arms. "I'm so proud of you boys," she gushed, "_both_ of you." She looked pointedly at the man pinned to the wall, who had relaxed a great deal since the spirit had appeared.

Mary stood, walking over to the man. "You know what you've done?"

He nodded, glancing over her shoulder at the ecstatic children. "It's worth it."

"You won't always be here to protect them."

"I won't have to be. This time, they'll have each other, they'll have wives, and kids, and they won't need me. Not like I need them."

The woman nodded, understanding, and turned back to her sons. "You boys are so lucky you found him. Now, you want him off the wall?" Both children nodded. "All right. Go back by your, um, dad, and stay there. And no matter what, remember that I love you."

The boys nodded again, falling back to stand beside the man that had agreed to raise them. Their mother burned before them, freeing their guardian from his invisible prison. The man scooped them up in his arms, holding them close.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, "she said she loves you."

"She talked to me," Dean whispered in a small voice that hardly seemed his own, "she noticed me."

"See? I told you things would be better with me around."

* * *

"What the hell?" Dean asked loudly, rousing Sam from another memory. The younger man looked around. The car had come to a stop in front of a vaguely familiar house, and Dean was silently cursing at it.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Damn car just stopped," Dean explained, looking thoroughly confused, "no reason. We've got gas, and I checked her for damage in New York." He sighed. "I guess I missed something."

"Guess you did. Listen, if you want to stay out here, I can go up to the house and ask for directions to a garage or permission to park in the driveway until they can get a truck out here or something."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean nodded, "don't take too long."

Sam nodded and climbed out of the car. He walked up the long and winding path that led to the house. He could have sworn he'd been there before, just couldn't remember when or why. Finally, he reached the door and held out a hand to knock.

The door swung open before Sam got a chance to do anything, however, to reveal a very familiar face. "Samuel Winchester," Missouri Mosley smiled, "how's the new world been treating you?"

* * *

Wowzers! Another familiar face! This story's just chock full of them, isn't it? 


	14. Chapter 14

Just a fair warning to everyone who hates dialogue: I can't really writye anything else, so get ready for a fairly lengthy chapter of two people talking.

* * *

Sam watched out the window as his brother struggled with the car in the driveway. "You know," he muttered, "I should probably go out there and help him."

"No, Sam," Missouri said seriously, "you should in here and talk to me."

Sam turned away from the window and looked at the older woman, startled. The car had broken down fifteen minutes earlier, and the brothers had easily gotten permission to park the car in their friend's driveway. Dean had started working under the hood, while Sam had decided to socialize. It was decision he was beginning to regret.

"Let your brother be with himself for a while," the psychic offered, "I want to know how you've been doing since being dumped here."

Sam snorted. "Not too great. I have no idea what's going on, no memories of anything, people are dying, Dean's, I dunno, going through PMS or something, and everyone keeps telling me how great my life is, but I just can't see it."

Missouri sighed. "Let's sit down. We need to talk." Together, they walked into the kitchen and sat down at a wobbly old table. "This is where your father and I had our first talk, about the time stream and the consequences of messing it up. I scolded him, hit him with a wooden spoon, and then I heard something that forever changed my opinion of the man. I heard laughter.

"I'd met you and your brother once before, when your real father stopped by to see me after the fire. Oh, your brother was such a mess. Hardly said a word, just kept looking up at John with those big, scared eyes, holding onto that beat-up ol' jacket of his, like if he let go, John might just slip away. He was scared, I could tell, it just emanated off him. It still does."

"I thought the only reason my brother stayed behind was to fix himself. Are you saying it didn't work?"

The old psychic shook her head, glancing down at her hands before looking back up and meeting Sam's eyes. "You can't fix people, Sam, not like you can fix a broken toy or an old car. Hurt like that, like your brother's, it doesn't just go away. It gets buried, and it stays buried until someone comes along and uncovers it. Like pouring salt into a fresh wound. You dug it all up again. You made him hurt."

"How? What I said in the hospital? Look, I didn't mean that-"

"You know that, and I know that, but he doesn't. You held him up in the air, back in 1989, and told him that you were the favorite because you could think. You scared him so deeply that he was careful what he said or did around you for a whole year. I'm sure you don't remember this, and your father certainly didn't tell you, but Dean used to stay awake at night, just watching you, trying to will you not to hate him."

"He was ten years old."

"He did it until he was eighteen. He only stopped because he went to college. You hurt him more than you know when you refused to move out to Jefferson City after the wedding. He still wants to be a family, Sam, and you ruined that dream back in New York."

"He'll be fine, he just needs some time to get used to the idea of us not being together every waking moment."

"That's not it. He's not hurt because you want to go back to normalcy, he's hurt because you don't want him there with you. He needs you, Sam. Or, at least, he _did_."

Sam sighed. She was trying to guilt him into staying with his brother, he knew it, but it wasn't going to work. He was going to start over, whether Dean liked it or not.

"He's scared of you now, Sam, scared of the person you've become. He's realized something this month. He's all alone in the world. No one wants him. He's not just being paranoid anymore. It's actually happening."

"What happened in that hospital was a stupid mistake on my part, and-"

"I'm not talking about the hospital. It happened earlier than that."

"Meg?"

Missouri nodded. "Meg. Do you know why he asked her out?"

Sam chuckled. "He thought she was hot."

"No. He wasn't interested in her at all. He still missed his wife and children, and he knew Meg was going to die."

"Then why'd he do it?"

"He did it," Missouri sighed, "because he thought _she_ might be interested in _him_. Just knowing that someone else out there wanted him was enough to give him hope, but she shot him down. He didn't know how to deal with rejection alone, knew that he couldn't turn to you and you wouldn't understand, so he turned to someone he'd known would always be there for him. His father."

"He's dead."

"He's also your brother," Missouri smiled, "thanks to the wonders of time travel. With that hair cut, your brother looks exactly like him, don't you think?"

Sam sighed. "Split personality disorder. Great. Just what I need. Any other insights from the back of my deranged brother's mind?"

"Remember when he asked if your father had ever had any other relationships? He wanted to know if there was someone whose arms he could automatically leap into once you left. That's right, Sam, he knew what you were going to do even before _you_ did."

"So, if he knew I wanted to leave, and that I didn't know of anyone else he'd click with, he asked me if he could come along so, what, he wouldn't have to be alone?"

"Exactly. It was a last-ditch effort."

"I told him no," Sam said slowly, looking down at the table and feeling like an idiot, "but why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he argue? Why didn't he explain it? I thought he talked about things now."

"He did," Missouri clarified, "but he doesn't anymore. He's scared of you, he feels abandoned, and no one's there to help him out. He's turning into your father, Sam, and he's doing it on purpose now. The music, the hair, the attitude, he's adopted it because he doesn't have anything else to do. His father was always there for him, but now he's dead. He's going to help himself now, Sammy, because no one else will. And he knows it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Sam asked, sitting up suddenly and walking from the kitchen, "my mind's made up. I'm going to start over and he's not coming with me."

"I'm telling you this because it's what your father would have wanted. He asked me to take care of you boys if anything happened to him. He trusted that I wouldn't turn them away after John was shot."

"You know about that?" Sam asked, turning to face her, "how?"

"He told me. He told me what he told himself, and I asked if the boys really would have run. You know what he said? Only one of them would."

"I would have fought him? I would have stayed behind?"

Missouri shook her head, leading Sam back into the kitchen and sitting back down. "He wouldn't have given you a chance. That boy knew how much normalcy meant to you, he wasn't about to dangle it in front of your face and then rip it away. He would have waited a day before calling the police, then he would have left you in the room and run."

"Why, though?" Sam asked, realizing for the first time how little he truly knew about his big brother, "I thought he didn't want to be alone."

"He didn't, but being alone by your own power and being alone because no one will have you are two completely different things. You need to understand, Sam, that he was told by the man he trusted that no one would ever want him, that everyone would leave someday, and then that man became possessed by a demon and pushed those insults in farther and deeper until they cut him straight to the core."

Sam stared at her. He'd known John Winchester to get pretty mean when he was drunk, had overheard him more than once insulting a too-young-to-hear-that-crap Dean as the little boy led his father to bed, but had John really-?

"He did," Missouri nodded, "and it was hard to override that instilled fear, but it happened. It didn't last, but it happened. Your brother is scared to death right now. He needs his father more than anything else."

"The car," Sam said, a thought suddenly hitting him, "it's not a coincidence that it broke down outside your house, is it? It happened for a reason, that's why you're talking to me, right? Dad did it, he's trying to keep us together, isn't he?"

Missouri smiled, shaking her head. "It wasn't your father, Sam. Your brother did this. While you were asleep he pulled up outside and hit the brakes. There's nothing wrong with the car. He just needed some time to think, maybe a little more time spent with you. He's got his head under the hood, but he's not doing anything."

Sam stood up and crossed the room, heading to the window he'd been staring out before his psychic friend had made him feel like the world's biggest asshole. Dean had closed the hood, and sat in the car's front passenger seat, hugging his knees to his chest and crying silently as he stared, unblinking, at the empty driver's seat.

Sam closed his eyes, blocking out the scene, as a headache began to blur his vision.

* * *

"Nervous?" the man in the leather jacket asked as the black Impala sped closer to the school.

"Should I be?" the ten-year-old beside him asked, his voice shaking slightly as he looked at the backpack on his lap.

"I dunno," his father shrugged, "I mean, it _is_ your first day of school in a new town, and this time you're gonna stay."

"I guess that's a good reason," the boy replied, glancing in the backseat, which was empty. The car fell into silence for a moment before he spoke again. "Dad, um, should I have friends?"

The older man glanced briefly at him. "I dunno, Dean, we've only really been here a couple of months. Do you think you should have friends already?"

"Sammy's got friends."

"Sammy can also read minds and predict the future. Don't worry. You're gonna meet some kids your own age today, no problems."

The boy smiled, though he still looked nervous. "What if I don't make any friends? What if no one likes me?"

"I'll be your friend," his dad smiled.

"That's kind of pathetic, though," Dean muttered, smiling and rolling his eyes, "like being your own best friend."

"Better than being your own father," the man shot back as he pulled up to the curb in front of the school. He could already see his younger son, who'd hitched a ride with some kids from their neighborhood, walking into the large brick building. "Don't worry, kid, you'll be fine. Don't sweat it."

Dean grinned weakly, grabbing his backpack and opening the door. "See you later," he muttered.

"Bye," his father waved after him, "have fun, be good, and don't fight!"

"Love you, dad," the boy called back, already halfway to the school doors.

"Love you, too," the older man smiled, reaching over and pulling the door shut. He sat and watched for a moment as a little boy with blond hair approached his son, pointing at the car. The kids walked into the building together, and Dean Swanson let out a deep sigh of relief. He'd been prepared to pack up and move if the kid hadn't made friends, but that didn't seem to be an issue anymore.

* * *

Sam gasped, clutching his forehead. Another memory, only he hadn't been there. So, was it really a memory?

Head still pounding, he glanced back out the window, where Dean was still sitting in the car. At least he'd stopped crying.

"I think I should go to bed now," Sam muttered as Missouri lay a concerned hand on his shoulder, "um, which room?"

* * *

So, that was my great insight into AU Dean's head. Kinda scary, huh? 


	15. Chapter 15

Wow, only a couple of chapters left, guys. Time sure flies, huh (especially when I'm the one writing the story, it seems).

* * *

The fire crackled in the pit, warming the three occupants of the nearby tent nicely. It had been a long day, scary, too. If their now battered and bruised father hadn't thought to leave that trail of M&Ms, they might not have found him. But the wendigo was gone, that was the important thing, and lives had been saved. Now the family sat around a blazing campfire, roasting marshmallows for smores.

"I was scared today, dad," Sammy admitted, plucking his marshmallow from the stick he'd been using to hold it over the fire and popping it in his mouth, "I thought we'd lost you."

"Well," their father smiled, "you found me again, thanks to your brother's leftover candy. And we beat the bad guy, and everything turned out all right. You know why?"

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Because we stuck together, and we didn't panic. No matter what anyone else says, we're stronger as a family. Through thick and thin, we'll always have each other."

"Like the three musketeers?" Sam questioned, putting another marshmallow over the fire.

His brother nodded. "The three amigos."

"Ash, Misty, and Brock," their father agreed. He gazed at the boys he'd adopted, amazed at how far they'd come, and recognized confusion on their faces. "Sorry," he muttered, "little before your time, huh? What was I supposed to do, though, you took the good ones!"

* * *

Sam jumped awake as an alarm clock beside his bed went off. He hit it absently, trying to comprehend everything he'd just seen. It had been a memory, he was sure of it, some kind of camping trip in Black Water Ridge. They'd agreed to stay together.

He smiled to himself as he realized that Dean had admitted to watching 'Pokemon.' They'd certainly been a messed-up family, but a family nonetheless. "Ash, Misty, and Brock," Sammy muttered as he rolled out of the bed and started toward the kitchen, where Missouri was cooking something.

"Morning, Sam," the psychic smiled as Sam made his incredible early-morning appearance, which was nothing more than a lot of shuffling and moaning, "cereal?"

"Aren't you making pancakes?" he asked, flopping down into one of the chairs and glancing at what she was making.

"I am, but not for you."

"For who?"

Missouri smiled. "Here he comes now."

Sam turned as his brother entered the kitchen, limping and grunting as he eased himself into a chair.

"Did you sleep in the car last night?" Sam questioned, looking over at his brother as Missouri set a plate of pancakes in front of the older man.

Dean pushed the food away, toward Sam, and reached for a box of cereal that was sitting out on the table. "Yeah," he groaned, "you can have the pancakes if you want them, I'm fine with cereal."

"You know," Sam began, gratefully digging in to his breakfast, "I was thinking last night. We can probably get out of here faster if we have a professional look at the car."

Dean's eyes went wide and he stared at Sam as if the younger man had just slapped him. The look of shock quickly faded, though, pushed behind a mask of indifference. "I don't want anyone messing up my car," Dean muttered through a mouthful of cereal, "I can do it."

"Are you sure, because-"

"Sam, relax, would you? I'll fix the car and we'll head out to Cali as soon as possible, all right? You won't have to put up with me much longer."

Sam sighed. "That's not what I-"

"Just forget it," Dean snapped, "shut up and eat your breakfast."

"Listen to me," Sam tried again, "I was just thinking that maybe someone with a little more experience could find the problem faster."

"I don't think a mechanic can fix this," Dean muttered, standing up with a loud grunt and heading out the door.

"What's _his_ problem?" Sammy asked as his brother walked onto the driveway and began digging under the Impala's hood again.

Missouri sighed, joining Sam at the table again. "And you think _he's_ an idiot. Child, _you're_ the problem. You come into this world and find that everything's changed, but, in reality, _you_ are the one that changed, Sam. You're the only one, everything else is exactly as it's always been. You treat your brother like he's a stranger, your father like he betrayed you, but _you're_ the stranger, _you_ betrayed _them._ You just can't see that, can you?"

Sam shook his head. "You think I don't realize that? I know whose fault this is. It's mine. If I hadn't made us go after the demon in '89, if I hadn't wanted that normal life so bad, he never would have stayed back there. Things would still be right. I just want something familiar."

"You've got your brother," the psychic pointed out, "he's familiar."

"No. He's different, too. He's weaker, more emotional, _scared_. I just want the guy I remember back."

"And Dean's trying to help you with that. Sam, he's changing his very nature for you. He shouldn't have to."

"What do you suggest I do," Sam sighed, dropping his fork and standing up, "go with him? Hunt demons? Give up everything I've ever wanted just because my older brother can't handle being alone?"

"You should think about it, and think about everything he's given up for you, everything he's _willing_ to give. You'll make the right choice, Sam, I know you will."

* * *

Oh, such a short, cute chapter. I'm starting to wonder how this'll all turn out, aren't you? 


	16. Chapter 16

Sorry, guys, but this is another short chapter. Also, sadly, the next update will be the last. Good news: I've got an idea for a slightly disturbing sequel knocking around in my head, nad if I get the time, it jsut might come out on paper (or, pixels, I guess), so keep your eyes peeled...

* * *

He'd just been walking, so it was OK. He still thought the car needed to be fixed, and that was OK, too. Sam couldn't leave without the Impala, and Dean knew it, so he would buy himself some family togetherness time. He'd tricked his favorite little brother, so what? The guy deserved it. Besides, a little more time as a family never hurt anyone, might even change Sam's mind about leaving, and that was all right by Dean.

He'd still been under the hood, marveling at the excellent shape that his father had kept the car in, when Sam had walked off down the driveway, saying he needed some air. That was fine, because Dean was getting kind of tired of standing hunched over and pretending to fix his car.

Slamming the hood and smiling to himself, Dean headed into the house, hoping to take some time off and maybe catch up on some of the sleep he'd been missing since Sam had first told him he wanted to start over. Instead, he found Missouri waiting for him in the living room.

"Dean Winchester," she scolded, "we both know that car of yours isn't broken, so why try to fix it?"

Dean grinned, flopping down on the couch and stretching his feet out onto the coffee table only to have them hit with a wooden mixing spoon. "Ow. What was that for?"

"For lying to your brother and putting those muddy boots up on my table. Now sit up like a normal person and explain yourself, boy!"

Grudgingly, Dean straightened up, gazing at the psychic who sat across from him. "No explanation," he shrugged, "something's wrong with the car."

"Nothing's wrong with the car, Dean, but something's wrong with you."

The hunter flinched. "You think I don't know that. It's become increasingly obvious over the past month. No one's been sticking around, and I don't know how to deal with that."

"So you pretend to be someone who does?"

"It's not me. It's _him._ I guess I just thought that if I could be who he needed me to, he wouldn't leave, and he still wants to walk out. Well, actually, he wants me to drive him there. But, it's all right, I think I can deal with it now."

Missouri shook her head. "You can't. You've never been alone. Your father made sure of that."

"He's not here right now, though, is he?"

"No, he's not, but that doesn't mean you have to give in to what your brother wants."

Dean sighed, hanging his head. "Listen, I appreciate you trying to help, but I'm fine. As long as he's happy, I'm happy."

"But you aren't happy."

"He doesn't have to know that."

"Dean," the psychic said gently, "I told him about the car. He's knows there's nothing wrong with it."

The hunter's head snapped up, panic shining in his hazel eyes. "Why'd you do that?"

"He had to know. Honey, you can't keep him here against his will forever. Eventually, he would have grown suspicious."

"So I would have 'fixed the car' and we would have gone out again, broken down again, and waited it out for a while. I had a plan."

"You were going to kidnap your brother, Dean," Missouri pointed out, "at least now he knows the truth."

"Yeah, and he'll want to head out as soon as he gets back," Dean muttered, standing up and walking to the window, looking out at the car his father had so proudly owned, "then what'll I have? A car and some scammed credit cards. Whoop dee, just what I've always wanted."

"Cut the sarcasm," the psychic warmed, "you're starting to sound like your father."

"I wasn't being sarcastic, but thanks for the compliment."

She came to stand beside him, watching him stare into space, letting his thoughts flash through her mind, and realizing for the first time just how bad off the damaged man was. He truly believed he had nothing left in the world.

"You have friends, Dean, from school," the psychic pointed out, "you can stay with them until you find yourself again."

"Three of them are prison and the rest don't even remember me. They snubbed me at the last impromptu reunion." He sighed, wishing more than anything that his father was still there to tell him what to do, trying to think back on the advice the man had given him the last time his happiness had been threatened. Finally, he had an idea.

"Hey, Missouri," Dean began tentatively, "could I, um… maybe, after I drop Sam off, I could, uh… if it's not a problem…"

"Of course," his father's friend smiled warmly. "If you'd like to come stay with me a while after you leave your brother, I'd be happy to have you, Dean."

"Really?" he asked, his face lighting up, "you mean it?" She nodded. "Thanks so much, you won't regret it. I'll do whatever you want, help around the house, deal with telemarketers-"

"Just be yourself, child, for all our sakes."

Dean nodded, wrapping his arms briefly around the older woman before heading out the front door to continue 'working' on his car.

"You know he'll never leave, right?" Sam asked from the doorway behind her as Missouri turned away from the window.

"As long as he stops trying to be your father, I think I'll survive," the psychic asked, smiling, "now, I think you should pack up again, Sam. You'll be leaving tomorrow."

* * *

One chapter left... one chapter left... what kind of ending will it be? And will Dean really stay with Missouri once Sam's gone? 


	17. Chapter 17

The final chapter, I'm sorry to say, is a short one. The good news: I started typing the sequel, "Breaking Down Doors," yesterday, so keep your eyes peeled (though with school, it might take me a while to get it up here!).

I'd just like to (again) thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. I know it's definitely different than the others people are writing, and very confusing at times, so thanks a ton for sticking with it!

And now, the final chapter of "Closing Doors."

* * *

AC/DC blared from the radio as the car sat in the driveway, Dean waiting patiently behind the wheel for Sam to say his good-bye to Missouri. The elder hunter's mind was wandering, taking him places he didn't want to go, places that were dark and filled with the demons that had tortured his mind his entire life, but he couldn't help it. He always went there when he was alone, or knew that he was about to be. It was the reason he'd always surrounded himself with people, always stayed in close contact with his father. He believed that no one should be forced to go into that dark place.

The passenger side door opened and Sam slid in, waving one last time back at the house.

"So," Dean said, struggling to be heard over the music, "ready to go? I'm sure that apple pie life of yours is waiting."

"Yeah," Sam said distantly and nodded slightly as the car pulled from the driveway and onto the street, "I guess."

"California, here we come," Dean smirked.

Sammy sighed, looking over at his brother, a man he finally recognized in attitude and appearance. He suddenly realized that was a bad thing. "About that," he began, "I was reading online last night that there's been a string of murders in St. Louis. A bunch of guys going nuts and killing their girlfriends or wives, then saying they were gone at the time of the murders."

"Shape shifter?"

"Probably. And in Colorado, a couple was found mauled on the side of the road. Probably that vampire gang dad never caught."

Dean shrugged. "I'll put it on my to-do list. Right now, we're taking you home."

"Listen, man, I've been thinking."

"Way to go, Sam, it's always good to try new things."

Sam snorted. "I'm serious, Dean. I'm starting to think that you're right. We're all we've got now, and we have to stick together because of it. We're stronger as a family."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying what I think you're saying? Because if you're not, or this is some kind of trick, I swear, I'll pull over and leave your ass on the side of the road and you can hitchhike your way back to California."

"I mean it. I want to keep hunting. With you."

"We're not gonna have to hug or anything, now, are we?"

Sammy sighed, shaking his head. "That's another thing, man. Stop the act. I don't have a problem with you, it was me, all right, I'm the one who wanted this world, so I'm gonna have to deal with it. Now, come on, show me how much you _really_ messed yourself up."

Dean smiled, an expression that touched his eyes for the first time in days. "All right, I'll drop the act. It's a good thing, too, 'cause I'm getting sick of Metallica." He reached forward and messed with the radio until he found a good country station. "There we go. _Much_ better."

Sam grinned, leaning back in his seat and lacing his fingers together behind his head. "I think I can get used to this," he said, finally feeling at peace with the world.

* * *

Well, there you have it... short and sweet. What did you think? 


End file.
